Second Chances
by Samsquatch67
Summary: Sam and Dean are brothers, but they were separated at a young age. What would happen when they are reunited after several years. Both have changed, for the better, or the worse? Can they accept each other, their lives, and will they be willing to give second chances? NO SLASH, NOT a deathfic, Hurt!withdraw!Dean later on in the story.
1. Chapter 1

**SAM'S POV**

Maine, 9:00 PM: "We're done here, and I better not see you back any time soon. Sam... go. OUT!" he said, finally snapping one last time and pounding his fist on his desk. Sam flinched slightly at the noise and nodded briskly, leaving the room and shutting the door silently behind himself.

Sam walked towards his 'room', getting there and shutting the door with an almost slam, letting out an exasperated sigh. He just wanted to be home. At his house. Alone. If not for just FIVE stinkin' minutes. 'Well...' he thought to himself, shaking his head and moving away from the door, tossing his backpack unceremoniously onto his smooth, marble counter.

*DEAN'S POV*

Dean walked through the heavy downpour of rain, shaking slightly and looking at the blurry... everything. It was all blurry. He frowned slightly, knowing he had no place to stay tonight. Last place... the homeless shelter... they kicked him out because of... well... drug use. He shrugged slightly thinking, 'Well, you can quit, or you can sleep in the cold... sleeping in the cold is easier.'

He sighed, and trudged forward, looking up at the blackened sky. It was only 9:02, but it was almost completely dark because of the rain clouds. He coughed harshly, rubbing his cold shaking hands on his arms and letting out a weak sigh. He needed a place to stay. He was cold, and his clothes were soaked through.

He blinked rapidly, his thoughts all fuzzy and distant. The high would wear off soon... and it would again leave him in his previous state. Miserable... which was typical. But for now... he was high... too much so to care about where he was, or who saw him.

He glanced across a long field and saw a nice looking building. He couldn't read the sign... to blurry from here. He kept walking, seeing lots of cars in the parking lot, and lights turning out. Where was he? He blinked rapidly, moving toward the sign. "Haven Boarding School" "okay... " he said quietly, knowing it was better than nothing. Maybe there was an empty room, or perhaps an unlocked car he could sleep in... maybe there was even food. That thought had his dull green/hazel eyes shining for a moment. It had been two days since he had actually eaten. Yes... this place would be better than just fine... rich kids lived here... of course there would be shelter... food. He walked forward, barely visible through the rain. He pulled the edges of his worn leather jacket closer around himself and moved forward.

**SAM'S POV**

After collapsing onto the brown leather couch in his living room, Sam stared up blankly at the roof, letting out yet another sigh and frowning if not just slightly. He didn't know who exactly framed him for stealing the guy's car. But, whatever, it was in the past now... pretty much. Unfortunately, he seemed to be chosen to be framed a lot, a good fall guy he supposed. Sam pulled the 'blanket' down from the top of the couch over himself, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose.

*DEAN'S POV*

Dean moved quietly along the back of the building, wanting a room that was somewhat out of the way... one with the lights off. He moved forward, twitching and flinching at almost every sound as his head slowly started aching. 'How did I get here?' He found himself asking. It wasn't so much a 'where am I?' question, as a, 'How did I get into this situation?' question. He didn't really need to ask... he knew... he remembered.

He sighed quietly at the thought, but kept going, pushing that thought away and moving toward a close room. He found a room with a large back window and pulled slightly on it... nothing. 'Why don't they just leave the windows unlocked JUST ONCE?' he thought, putting one hand against the glass and sliding it down. He stared desperately into the dark room, then closed his eyes and leaned against his arm, shivering again from the cold.

**S&D'S POV**

Sam flinched at an 'EEeeeeeerrrrrrrrrrrrrr' sound of something sliding down his glass window, jumping up off of the couch and staring back at the face that was outside of his window. "Holy..." he muttered under his breath, hesitating for a second and arguing with himself inside his head before going towards the window, unlocking it and tugging it open, "Dude, what are you doing out there?" he asked, his words limp, he could already guess. Probably some homeless guy. "C'mon..." he muttered oddly trustingly, looking back at the door once and moving out of the way for the guy.

Dean jumped back, his eyes widening in surprise and mistrust. He hadn't known someone was in the room... he hadn't been thinking. His head was somewhere in the clouds... drugs did that. Usually, he would have been more careful. This time had been a clumsy mess up.

Dean backed away, wondering why on earth some rich kid was opening the window and telling him to come in. He frowned, standing back in the pouring rain. He was debating running at this point. He thought the kid might just want to call the cops and get him arrested... again. People did that a lot. He glared at the teenager, who was maybe 14-16... he couldn't know for sure... especially in the dark, and with the pouring rain. He stayed still as a statue, part of him wanting to leave, the other wanting a place to stay...

"Well, you comin' or not? otherwise, I'm closing the window, so?" he said in an asking tone, waiting for an reply he backed up only slightly away from the window, seeing the surprise and mistrust in the guy's eyes. It would just be for a few hours for him staying there to stay out of the rain, then he'd be gone, no biggy really, not a life changing event. Sam glanced back at the door again, which, was locked at this point, before looking back at the guy.

Dean looked behind him once, hearing the distant sound of a siren. 'Yeah... on second thought... a place to stay would be fine.' He moved forward, waiting until the kid backed up to move into the room. He dropped from the window and inched away from it, quickly moving out of the corner. He didn't like the feeling of being trapped... and being cornered tended to cause that feeling... for one reason or another. "Why'd you let me in?" he asked, mistrust clear, along with a tired, dazed edge in his voice... he felt like his head was going to explode... the high was wearing off.

"It's raining." he said simply, shrugging and closing the window after the guy, "The couch is there, if you need blankets just say the word. Food's in the refrigerator. You can stay until tomorrow. Make yourself at home." he said with another shrug and walked towards the kitchen, a rising feeling of pity poking at him.

Dean's eyes widened, if only just a bit. He let his face return to its previous angry expression. It was something of a defense. Most people would leave him alone when he looked like that. He had seen his reflection on occasion and decided that he would leave himself alone if he met himself on the street... he didn't look friendly.

However, Dean nodded slowly at Sam's words, then countered. "Why does it matter if it's raining? No one cares... no one should anyway." he muttered, backing a few steps toward the couch, but not sitting down on it. He licked his lips for a moment, thinking, 'food... REALLY want food.' But he wasn't gonna ask, he wasn't saying anything about it. "How should I know if you're gonna call the cops on me?" he asked, pushing his pointer and middle fingers to the side of his head, trying to push away the ache that was beginning.

"If you want to leave, okay!" Sam said as he stopped in the kitchen, turning back to face the guy. "If I was going to call the cops, wouldn't I have already?" he 'asked'. He sighed quietly and pushed away the lingering annoyance, he wasn't irritated at this guy, just about everyone else in the boarding school besides Joshua. What was he, a verbal punching bag? A donkey to pin the tail on? He made a face at his own thoughts, his lips pulling out sideways and his eyebrows pushing down slightly into an odd expression.

"FINE!" Dean retorted loudly. Seconds later of course, he regretted it. Loud... that was very loud. Someone might have heard... someone might come. Call the cops. 'STUPID! Dean that was stupid...' his thoughts told him. "I know..." he muttered in reply to them, as though it was someone else speaking to him.

Dean moved toward the window, lingering there between it and the couch. He didn't want to leave... it was warm in here. The thought made him shiver slightly, but he forced himself to stop, not wanting the teenage rich kid to see him shiver. 'Never let your enemy see your weakness...' his father's voice rang through his head. 'Yeah... thanks for that 'Dad' he thought in return. He looked across the room at the kid, then past him, toward the kitchen, then at the window, then at the door. Had someone heard him? Would they come?

He cringed at the yell... scream, recoiling backwards slightly and swallowing hard, glancing at the ground. "Hey, sorry man, just having a kinda suckish day. If you want to leave still, okay, but you're welcome to stay, sandwich material in the fridge and water bottles." he said, flashing the guy a dimpled smile and then walking off to the right towards a room, stopping in front of the door and letting his head rest against it, trying to push away the pulling pity for the guy... what had happened to him? He looked young, how'd he get on the streets?

Dean stopped, instantly convinced to stay at the mention of food. He wouldn't turn it down. Besides... he knew at least, that it wasn't poisoned. Couldn't be. The kid wouldn't have known he was coming, and Dean assumed that the kid didn't poison his own food... so there was that.

Dean nodded slowly, hearing the kid say 'Sorry, just having a suckish day.' Dean blinked slowly, and replied. "Mk... T-thanks." he said, stuttering slightly. He was not used to thanking people... no reason to thank them. But this kid didn't seem SO bad... for a rich kid. 'What? What's wrong with you, Dean? stop thinking you can trust this kid.' his mind hissed at him. 'Why is it? Because he reminds you of 4-year-old Sammy? That is?' He growled quietly at his thoughts and muttered, "Drop it." He talked to himself... yes. Who else could he trust? Besides... generally, he didn't have company... like, never. SO, it was the only way to stay sane... and, well, he wasn't sure if it had worked, or actually driven him crazy just by doing it.

"Yeah, no problem." he said, opening the door and leaning away from it, about to walk into the small bedroom when he heard the guys voice say 'drop it'. "Hm?" he asked quietly, turning around and staring at him with wide, confused eyes. 'What did I do?' he thought instantly, but shook his head, seeing the guy he guessed that he was talking to himself. "Okay, I'm just gonna... uh... be here, so, uh, you need anything, just ask." he said, backing up slowly into his room.

Dean nodded slowly, giving no explanation for his speech to himself. He heard Sam saying if he needed anything, to just ask. 'Okay, that's not cool' his thoughts, well... they thought. 'D****, I was so set on stealing from the rich kid.' his mind grumbled. "No." he said aloud, denying himself the right to steal from the kid. Not this one. He was one of the 'good people.' One of the people that didn't see a street kid and think, 'Worthless' instantly. Not to mention the fact that the kid didn't ask any questions... that was a plus. He hated questions... questions...

_"D 'n... DEAN! LOOK!" 3 1/2 year old Sam called. He moved quickly to the next room over and stood in the doorway. "What Sammy?" he had asked. "What's this?" he asked, holding up a book belonging to their farther. It was one that John had said not to let Sammy get a hold of. "Sammy... put it back. It's Dad's." Dean said, his voice gentle, not mean or impatient. "Mk... fine. Why are we here? Why don't we have houses like most other people?" the VERY talkative three-year-old asked. Dean closed his eyes for a moment, feeling the sting of the words. He knew that Sam didn't understand... not yet. "Dad's job moves around..." He had answered Sam. "Mk... how come we don't have a mommy?" he had asked. That one hurt. Dean turned away, remaining silent for several seconds. "D 'n? 'M sorry..." Sam's little voice had coughed. Somehow the kid knew... he always knew when Dean was upset, whether he said it or not. "'re you mad at me? Please don't be mad..." he whispered. "No... Sammy, no. I'm not mad at you... you know I can't be mad at you little bro!" he said, running a hand through Sam's fluffy hair. "I know... cuz I'm too cute... and Cuz of my puppy eye dogs!" he said, messing up what Dean always said were, 'puppy-eye dogs!" he said, messing up what Dean always said were, 'puppy-dog-eyes.' "Yeah Sammy... Yeah..." he laughed at Sam's tiny little 3 year old voice._

**SAM'S POV**

Sam closed the door, but then ended up leaving it cracked open, walking towards the green blanketed bed and flopping down face first, groaning and burying his face into the pillow. Sam ran a hand through his light chestnut hair, and turning over on the bed, pulling the side of one of the blankets over himself, not bothering to move underneath it, just wrapping it over himself from the sides.

*DEAN'S POV*

Dean waited until the boarding school kid had walked out, then 'raided' the fridge. He didn't take much, but enough. The kid had told him to make himself at home. He sighed quietly, moving farther into the kitchen, then leaning back against the wall and sliding down until he sat on the blue tiled floor. He leaned his head against the wall, and he glanced to his right at the wooden drawers lining one side of the kitchen. Not bad. The whole room was actually not bad... better than that.

It was a rich kid's room. He was used to sleeping in an alley, or an abandoned building if he was lucky. 'Shoulda been a better kid... maybe people woulda hated you less... maybe someone would actually want you.' his mind thought. "Yeah, whatever... shut up." he muttered quietly. He pulled off his jacket, and then started using it as a blanket, leaving it draped over his knees. He looked at his arms, both scarred, and covered in needle marks... 'You're gonna die young.' "Yeah, I know... I guess." he answered quietly. 'What's the point in living like this? My own father didn't want me.' he thought.


	2. Chapter 2: 'Kidnapped'

Sam was already drifting off to sleep when he heard a loud knock on the door, sending him flying out of the bed, cursing all the way. 'Watch your language!' he heard the voices of several of his 'teachers' inside of his head chewing him out, even his own parents with their British accent. An accent which he had picked up on involuntarily. And an accent he always tried to hide.

Sam trudged towards the door, his heart nearly stopping as he remembered the guy, how could he have forgotten so fast? "Hide... hide, I'll deal with it, 's nothing, sorry, just wait in that room..." he said politely, gesturing towards his bedroom and then walking towards the door, waiting for the guy to move before he could open the door.

Dean looked up, hissing quietly under his breath at the suddenness. Who was it? Cops? Someone else? Oh no... unpaid dealer? It couldn't be. No... they wouldn't know he was here. He had JUST gotten there. Impossible. Who then? Then it hit him... they might not even be there for him. He stood quickly as Sam entered the room, then listened as he told him to hide in the back room. He was tempted to ask WHY he would hide him... but he didn't. He knew better. If someone heard him, then he could be caught... so, no talking. 'You'll just have to trust the kid... you really wanna do that? When was the last time you did?' He rolled his eyes at his own thoughts and thought, 'Well, I don't have a choice, now do I?' He silently crossed the room, ignoring the pounding of his head as he did so. Who was at the door? Someone after the kid? Why? What'd he do? Dean didn't know, but finally, he got to the back room and moved, standing with his back to the wall, right beside the door. He listened quietly now, waiting to hear what would unfold now.

He waited until he heard the footsteps dissipate, before opening the door, to his shock, to be met with a fist. "You little punk! It's a car, or drugs, or beer, or leaving tacks, and with one call to your parents, it's all ignored! You think you can get away with anything, spoiled brat? Harassing my family though Sam, that's a new low!" the guy ranted, closing the door behind himself and fuming. Sam backed up slightly, rubbing a hand under his bloody nose and gasping quietly, holding his hand over his nose and closing his eyes for several seconds... great... really done it this time. "c'mon, fight me! You seemed to be fine with leaving a few bruises on Cole!" he hissed, swinging another punch, catching him in the jaw. Sam toppled backwards as he lost his balance, groaning painfully and standing back up, trying to keep his distance from the raging man. "I... w-would never do anything to your family!" he countered, shaking his head. "Oh, so you'd just THREATEN, huh?" "No... No I didn't mean...!" he started, only having to dodge another right hook. "PLease... please I didn't do it... I didn't do any of it, I was fr-" he stopped mid desperate sentence as the teacher/father/husband gripped his shoulders and gave a harsh shove, sending him onto his backside and crawling backwards trying to get away. "Please..!" he said, his wide eyes staring up at the man as he scrambled away. "Your mouth is moving, excuses are coming out, but what I really want to hear is..." he stopped, grabbing the color of the teens shirt with both hands and kneeing him in the ribs, gaining a gasp and moan. "That."

Dean could hear the entire conversation, all of it. Everything including the man attacking the teen. What was he talking about? Dean knew people. He could 'read' them as it were. Came from years of practice on the streets. And this kid... he wasn't the 'threatening' type... he wasn't any 'type' of bad. Dean's eyes darkened and he could hear the man kneeing the kid. Attacking a kid? That was going too far.

Seconds later, he heard something that made his heart skip a beat. 'Sam' the kid's name. Sam. His eyes widened and he felt rage building inside of him. 'Protect Sammy.' the one lesson that he had bothered to learn from his father came pouring into his mind. His muscles tensed and he gave up trying to hold back his violent side. He turned, moving out of the cover of the dark room. "Who the h*** do you think you are? Beating up a kid, huh?" he hissed, moving forward, his eyes having the same look as a wild animal. "Leave Sam alone... No one touches him." he hissed, advancing toward the man.

Dean didn't give the man time to take back his actions or move away, he leapt forward, instantly slamming into the man with all his weight, shoving him against a wall and punching him repeatedly and then pinning him to the wall, one arm pressed against the man's throat. "I should kill you... I should!" the man's mouth started moving in a plea, but Dean shot it down by replying, "Your mouth is moving... and excuses are coming out... but what I REALLY want to hear... " He paused, using the man's exact words, then smiled, bringing his knee hard against the man's stomach, causing him to groan in pain. "Is that..." he hissed, his anger still in full swing. "Sam didn't do that... he wouldn't. You're a liar... stupid... Stupid liar.. I'll kill you." he hissed, shoving the man to the floor.

He groaned again, letting himself slip to the floor as the teacher abruptly let him go. He held a hand to his ribcage, trying to catch his breath through the wheezing and panting. Why'd he stop? He opened his bright green at-the-time eyes and blinked to un-blur them, looking over at the wall, hearing the... oh crap... the guy talking. "Oh no..." he muttered allowed to himself, staring with wide eyes as the guy said 'who the h*** do you think you are? Beating up a kid, huh? Leave Sam alone... No one touches him. I should kill you... I should!..." ect... and along came a realization, a very useless one. He didn't even know the guys name.

Sam shook off that thought, only dragging himself forward until he came to a standing position, hearing the sound of his fist hitting the man's nose and then his knee to his gut, groans of pain, and, well the guy, sounding uh, scarily protective and angry. He jumped out of the way as the man was shoved to the floor, opening his mouth to say something but instead just really gaping, tasting the tang of coppery flavored blood in his mouth. "No no no," he muttered more to himself, "Stop, no hey dude stop please!" he blurted in one breath, moving forward and using himself somewhat as a 'shield' over the teacher guy, putting up both hands and meeting the anger filled hazels with bright greens. "Stop, please!" he practically begged.

Dean would have killed the man, at his word. He wasn't one to just let things slide... but he did this time. Only because of the 'please.' The last person to say that to him was his brother. He swallowed hard, lowering his blood covered fists and looking at the teenager. He breathed out a long sigh, but looked past Sam, toward the teacher. He deserved that... worse even.

Dean growled quietly, but forced himself to stay back. He would do what Sam asked. "Why? Why not rid the world of him? He hit you... I should..." he stopped, looking into Sam's eyes that were now wide with worry. He cared about other people.. whether they deserved that care or not... it didn't seem to matter. He was helping a man, who, only a minute before had been beating him. Dean shivered slightly, his muscles still tense, every fiber in him still wanted to pummel the 'teacher' who was now sprawled painfully out on the floor, grunting and groaning.

Sam nodded gratefully as he lowered his fists, letting out a long held out sigh and then continuing to talk, though to him now. "No, I'm not your responsibility..." he said, shaking his head again, not understanding the man's sudden anger towards the teacher, which minutes earlier had been directed at him... okay, so not on THAT scale. Sam slowly moved away from the teacher, seeing him making his way towards the door. "Please let him leave..." he pleaded, blinking rapidly. He smiled shakily and reassuring to the guy, *Of whose name he still doesn't know*, glancing once at the teacher who was practically crawling towards the 'sweet escape'.

Dean frowned, but didn't move toward the fleeing man. He wanted to ground him into the carpet, but he didn't. 'Self restraint... didn't know you had any of that left, Dean.' his own thoughts mocked. "Stop." he whispered quietly to his thoughts, wishing they would just shut up already. "He'll call the cops... I'm not going back... again. Can't." he said, shaking his head and backing toward the window. He knew that guy would call the cops. But... what happened if he left Sam? Would the man try to hurt him again? What if he did, and next time, there was no one here to help him? He couldn't, nor would he leave Sam like this. "We have to leave..." he said, emphasizing 'we' very clearly.

Sam let out a sigh of relief and leaned against a wall, hearing the door open and close as the man left. He wrapped one arm around his ribcage where he had been kneed, rubbing one hand under his nose again and wiping the blood off. He poked the bruise on his jaw and grimaced, looking back at the guy as he said 'we have to leave...' 'We?' he thought in confusion. 'We?'... the guy seemed so... alone, so crazy, so... abandoned? He closed his eyes for several seconds, 'I'll just come with him for a day and then leave, go back to my parents house...' he told himself, and nodded mentally in agreement. " ... don't even know your name...?"

Dean nodded, glad that he had not argued. That made things easier. He coughed quietly, glancing back with a tired expression for a moment. Name... name... didn't matter. What's in a name? "Doesn't matter." he said aloud, moving to the window and pulling it open again. He pulled himself out until he was sitting on the ledge, then looked back at Sam. "C'mon..." he said, his voice almost desperate, he was flinching at every sound again. He could hear sirens in the distance. Yup... the man called the cops. He frowned, his agitation growing. He swung his leags over the edge and dropped to the rain pelted grass on the other side, looking at Sam with a look that said, 'we need to be out of here before they come.'

Dean turned to look at Sam, his expression still an unreadable mask, though inside, he was again arguing with himself mentally. He shrugged, and then finally thought, 'Well, he's gotta call me something. That's true.' "Don't care... call me what you want to. Most people go for, 'kid' or worthless.'" he said, smiling back at Sam with a sarcastic, humorless smile that hid the turmoil beneath the surface very well. "Just... I dunno." he muttered. He would have to give the kid SOME kind of answer. He blinked rapidly, still not wanting to use his REAL name. 'Hmmph.' he thought, again noticing the cold outside. At least the rain was coming down a little less... but only a very little.

Sam frowned at his reply, seeing the sarcastic yet humorless smile pasted onto his face. His eyes flashed in some emotion, or plural, okay, a lot of different emotions at the same time. "Well I'm not most people." he said, and continued walking, pulling the backpack over his shoulder and shoving his other hand into one of his front jean pockets. Sam puffed out air and pretty much looked like he was glaring at his shoes as he walked, lost in his own thoughts. The fifteen year old could just imagine what his parents would say... he was traveling with some guy who wouldn't even say his name, had nearly killed a teacher, 'saved my $$' he thought before continuing; they would probably look at him with that same disappointment hinting in their eyes... well, it wasn't his fault people kept framing him for everything. Wasn't his fault that they were to busy than to teach him themselves. Wasn't his fault... 'stop it, they're good parents.' he told himself.

Dean nodded, knowing that was true. The kid wasn't most people. He was Sam... 'He's not YOUR Sam, idiot. He's some kid with the same name. It's a pretty popular name.' his thoughts argued. He looked at Sam and said, with a resigned sigh. "Just call me D. Lame... but whatever." he said, walking across the field he had come through before. He kept looking at Sam to make sure that he was still coming. For some reason, the thought of Sam turning and going back was more than he wanted to think about. He couldn't leave. Dean had to keep him safe. From anyone who would hurt him... no one would. He would do all that he could to prevent that from happening. "Sam..." he said the name, and his voice softened. He hadn't had any real reason to say it... he only said it...

"It is nice to properly meet you, D." Sam said, his mind so lost in thought and arguing so much, his British accent slipped through and so is manors came back to him after he imagined the disappointment in his parents eyes. His shoulders moved back and his back straightened almost robotically, until his face contorted in some emotion as he heard the accent in his voice. He slouched over in 'defeat', looked up through the dark brown bangs at D as he said his name, his voice softening for the first time. "Mhm?" he asked quietly.

"British? Why'd y' hide it?" Dean asked, hearing the accent of the teenagers voice. Why would he hide it? Hmmm... interesting. He turned to Sam as he walked, now completely ignoring, or unaware of the cold. He walked down the sidewalk, looking at the younger kid, and waiting for him to speak again. He shivered slightly from the cold, but barely noticed it at this point. He was used to spending long, cold nights outside... so this wasn't anything new.

"I'm not... I'm not a Brit... just around people with the accent a lot." he said, though obviously there was more to it than that. He trembled from the cold, pulling a brown hoodie from his backpack and pulling It on, before tugging the backpack onto his back again, stuffing his hands into his pockets. He looked on through half closed, glazed in 'tiredness' eyes, occasionally glancing at D.

"Mk... must'a been a long time... just sayin'." he said, knowing what it was like not to want to talk about something. He thought, 'Is there anything that I wouldn't have done for Sam. For MY Sam... Sam. I should have done more.' Suddenly, another thought hit him. They were walking down a city street... and they had nowhere to go. He frowned in irritation, looking at Sam again, then around. There were hotels and motels everywhere... but there was NO chance of that... he was broke. He let out a snorting laugh at the thought. Yeah... not gonna happen. He looked back at Sam, seeing his tired expression, he knew that they should stop. He could keep going all night... he was used to 3 hours of sleep, or less... but Sam, he probably wasn't. Lights out at boarding schools was about 10 O'clock... and that passed about half an hour ago.

He sighed and shook his head, going back to his counter and snatching his backpack off of it before bolting back to the window, hopping out easily enough and thinking, 'Crap, my parents are going to be called...' he shook his head again, "Then what d' I call you?" he asked again, walking forward away from the building with the guy...

"Mmm..." Sam said as some kind of reply, looking up at Dean again and seeing him frowning in irritation, looking at the motels and hotels, letting out a snorting laugh. "I have cash, 'f you want to stop...?" he said in somewhat of an asking tone, he wanted to stop, but at the same time, he felt horrid... D probably got only a few hours of sleep a night, and he was used to the luxurious 10-6 or later schedule. He swallowed awkwardly and stared down at the ground in front of himself, giving the occasional glance to the passing motel.

- 


	3. Chapter 3: Mary Poppins

Dean stopped, looking back at Sam. Generally, he would have flat out turned it down. He hated getting charity. But... it was for Sam, not him. He needed sleep, Dean knew that. It would be selfish to make Sam try to sleep in some abandoned building. He groaned inwardly at the thought, but nodded, waiting for Sam to take the lead. He didn't actually know the first thing about motels, or hotels... he hoped that Sam did, because, he had NO idea. "Y... you know what to do, right?" he asked, hesitation in his voice. He hated to admit that he didn't know something... so he hadn't said it straight out.

"Y... yeah, mhm." he confirmed, moving across the empty street to the motel and stopping just outside the door, tapping it lightly with one finger, "T-thanks." he said to Dean, turning and nodding to him once, knowing he could have kept going, prolly would have been fine for the rest of the night +. Sam moved into the motel, getting a two-bed room and moving towards the room, unlocking it and pushing it open, dropping the backpack next to one of the beds on the beige floor.

Dean had followed Sam, hanging back a bit as Sam did all the talking. He followed silently to the room, his eyes staring at the floor so intensely that it looked as though he was attempting to burn a hole through it. He reached the room and walked in, locking it quickly and then looking around. He had lost his own backpack last week. He hated that. It had everything in it... all his supplies... normal stuff... and a few, unconventional things. Salt being the most pressing. He hissed in irritation at his dependence on the freakin' condiment. Salt... of all things. His wonderful father had taught him that too... and he had never really lost that. He just... did it. Habit, drilled into his brain... he sighed, pushing that thought away. Nothing he could do about it now. He moved to the bed closest to the door and sat on it, pulling his knees up to his chest and closing his eyes. He opened them moments later. He couldn't sleep here. It was too comfortable... if that was possible. He looked across the room at Sam, who was setting his backpack down. "Where're your parents?" he asked, wondering why they had ditched Sam in a boarding school.

He slowly sat down onto the bed, lying back and pulling the blankets over himself, staring up at the roof and closing his eyes seconds later, listening to D's voice. "Oh, I dunno." he shrugged slightly under the covers then continued. "Right now? Probably on their way back from... Paris? Yeah, that's right." he said, nodding to confirm his own words...

_Mary Poppins, yes, literally, her name was Mary Poppins, moved into the living room with a white plate with golden lining, a grilled cheese sandwich on the plate. "Hey, Sam?" she said in a soft voice, sitting on the couch next to the quiet, starved boy. His head was buried in his knees, his muscles tensing as she neared him. "It's okay, It's okay..." she cooed, putting a hand on his back in an attempt to stop his shaking. "...Want... D'n... want.. my brother..." he mumbled through his knees, looking up at her with tear filled eyes. He closed his eyes tightly, knowing what he had just said. He wasn't supposed to bring him up. Just like he wasn't supposed to bring up his mother around John and Dean. The ten year old sniffed quietly, pulling his knees closer to his chest and replacing his head. "OKay. That's it. Sammy, eat this sandwich, then, we are going to have fun, mk? Maybe a mud fight, or a movie."_

Dean frowned, instantly his 'street manners' won over anything else. "Crappy parents then. Should be home." he stated, easily audible from across the room. He had a thing against parents who left their kids alone for a long time. He had never gotten over it. The only parent he had ever cared for was his mother, and she was dead. He bit back the thought, then looked at Sam again. "They always do that?"

Sam flinched slightly at the words, looking across the room at Dean. "No... they're not." he defended in a flat, unconvincing and frankly unconvinced himself voice. "Yeah, they like vacations I guess." he replied with an simple shrug. "The aren't... 'crappy parent's."

"Yeah they are..." he argued, being that was what he did. It got him in a lot of trouble generally, but he still did it. Old habits die hard. "Don't you get sick of it?" he asked, looking at Sam with his intense hazel/green eyes. He knew the look of someone who would recklessly defend someone, whether they believed their own words or not. He had done the same thing... a long time ago, with his father... used to think that John was some kind of hero. He grunted at the thought, hating himself for it now.

"No I Don't! Because... I don't..." he retorted, his voice cracking mid sentence... mid word... s... 'yes you do.' 'No!' mhm.' his mind argued, switching ever second. He let out a long sigh, shaking his head and turning towards the wall, hiding, or trying to, his shaking frame and the tears building in his eyes as memories flashed before his eyes. His heart ached inside his chest, he just wanted to reverse time and go back to before John had died... when there was Dean, he and John, just them... when he didn't worry every night about what happened to his big brother. When he didn't feel himself breaking at the thought of Dean getting the 'short end of the stick'.

Dean shut up, hearing the pain in Sam's voice. He knew that Sam was trying to defend the people, but he knew that his heart wasn't in it. He sighed quietly, no longer 'grilling' Sam with his questions. They had only just met. Besides... Sam had not been so nosy to him. "Mk... sorry." he mumbled, lying flat on the bed and staring up at the roof of the motel room. THe darkness was occasionally broken by the headlights of passing cars, but other than that, the room was dark.

He grunted through the pillow as an only reply of acknowledgement of D's apology, not trusting his voice any more anyways. Sam closed his eyes tighter until finally letting out a shaky, short sigh, covering it up with an awkward cough. 'just for a few more hours, then I go back home.' he reminded himself in an robotic voice inside of his mind. He was tired, confused, ect, and he just wanted this day/night to be over.

Dean said nothing more, only drifted slowly to sleep, albeit a very fitful, light sleep, dreaming of his past, just random memories, flashes... sometimes they would be warped. He flinched and twitched, trying to wake himself up... but not succeeding, and ending up reliving a past he so badly wanted to forget forever.

_ Dean sat alone in the room of the small orphanage, hearing his little brother calling his name. He could hear him talking with the woman who ran the place. "Sam, you'll get to see your brother when you go to pack, okay?" The woman asked. "NO! I wanna see D 'n NOW!" he cried in terror. They had never been separated, and their father had created a co-dependence in them that neither of them had minded... but they had never planned on being separated... and now... here it was... happening right before his eyes._

_They were taking Sam today. New home... new chance. Sam could have a life... one that didn't involve moving around, getting attacked, hurting, starving and wishing they could just have a home... now Sam would. He told himself to be happy about that. His little brother would learn things... go to school, and make friends... who knows, maybe one day_ _he would be famous. He shrugged slightly, those thoughts were the only thing keeping his tears at bay._

He knew that they would bring Sam in to say goodbye. He wasn't letting his 4 year old brother see him cry. No chance. Seconds later, the door swung open, and Sam came rushing at him, throwing his small arms around his brother. "D 'n, I don't wanna leave!" he sobbed. Dean coughed quietly to cover his own sob. "I know... but y' know what? It's gonna be okay... they're probably great Sammy... they're gonna take care of you." he whispered, his voice cracked in pain. "NO. They're awful. I hate them!" Sam's voice had sounded quite sincere. "No, Sammy, they're not... give 'em a chance... please..." he whispered, barely keeping himself together emotionally. "You don't want me around anymore? What did I do?" Sam asked brokenly. Dean's heart broke at Sam's words. How could his little brother ever think that he didn't want him? "No Sam, you didn't do ANYTHING wrong! I just want you to be safe... I want you to be happy. I want you to have a good life... I can't do that... I can't give you what you need." he said, sounding more mature than most 8 year olds should ever have to.

_This hurt... worse than anything he'd ever felt... any physical pain... nothing could compare to this. "If I have t' leave you, I don't want to be happy." Sam pouted. "Sam... that sound silly." he had scolded gently. "Of course you do..." he whispered, pulling Sam into a hug and then letting go. "Your stuff is packed..." he whispered, pointing across the room to Sam's backpack. "But... But... Dean... Please..." Sam said, his eyes overflowing, as tears began spilling from his vivid green eyes. "Sammy..." he said, his own emotions no longer bothering to hide... 'crap... I didn't want this to happen!' He thought desperately as tears slowly edged out of his eyes, flowing freely down his face. "Dean?" Sam's voice asked. "Why can't you come with me?" he whispered. "I just can't... Goodbye, Sammy." he whispered as the woman from the orphanage came in to take him away. By then, Sam __was hysterical, and he wasn't doing all that well either... why did their lives have to be like this? Why couldn't anything good ever happen to them?_


	4. Chapter 4: 3, 2, 1

Sam woke up with an slight flinch, leaning slowly away from the wall and letting everything come back to him. He looked over at the other bed for a second before standing up, trying to be quiet enough not to wake him up, well, that was assuming he actually was asleep. Sam moved into the bathroom, turning on the sink and splashing water on his face, gripping the sides of the sink and staring at his reflection. He pulled off the hoodie and crammed it back into his backpack, switching the shirt out for an 'red flower shirt'. 'Leave today...' he thought to himself robotically and sighed, annoyed that he felt an un-reliable, un-understandable pang at the thought of leaving the homeless guy. Just leave him some money... he told himself, knowing, maybe it would help him somehow, be of more use than money was to Sam. He pulled his wallet out, sneaking out of the bathroom and depositing it onto a desk next to D's bed before walking towards the door, flinching at every sound... an almost apprehensive, agitated feeling gripping him.

Dean had heard the sink turn on, and woken up with a start, instantly thinking, 'Where am I? What did I get myself into? Who's here?' Then it all came back to him, hitting him like a train. The kid... Sam. It was Sam. No one else. They were in a motel, they were alone. Safe... if it could be considered safe. It was still raining slightly outside, but only a light drizzle, and not the same downpour as last night. Seconds later, Sam came out, looking nervous and heading toward the door. Dean sat bolt upright and looked at the kid. "Where're you going?" he asked. He couldn't let the kid just leave. The cops were out there looking for both of them. They had run away from a boarding school... after he beat the living snot out of a teacher. Not only that... but there were other people... worse than cops... people that he didn't even really consider people. They were monsters... and a 15-year-old kid on the streets shouldn't run into one of them... he knew from experience. He waited for Sam to speak, and pulled his jacket on quickly to cover his scarred, needle punctured arms.

"Uh, um, just, coke?" he said, sounding unsure. 'Now I'm gonna have to stop to get a coke...' he thought to himself and frowned mentally. Sam shrugged to Dean and slowly pulled the door open, trying to inch out into the hallway.. He smiled nervously at D, still trying to get into the hallway out of the room.

Dean stood up, following Sam instantly. He frowned slightly as he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. UGh... soaked. He frowned but kept moving. "Fine, I'm coming." he said, following Sam out of the room and then closing the door. Luckily, he hadn't left anything in the motel room. Of course he hadn't... all he owned were the clothes he was wearing at that point. He looked at Sam with a suspicious look, knowing there was something Sam wasn't saying... what?

"Hey, dude, no, okay, I'm sorry, I have to go back to my parents before they completely freak..." he explained as he walked down the hallway now with Dean. He knew his parents would get his face all over... everywhere... and if that was something he could avoid, he was going to avoid it. "I'll just uh, walk..." he said and sped up slightly, swallowing down nervously and hoping that the guy would just let him go... why wouldn't he?

Dean sped up as well, not giving any thought to Sam's words. "They're in Paris." he said, remembering Sam's words from last night. "They won't notice... not yet." he said, moving quickly to Sam's side again. He looked both ways, his eyes twitching in every direction, looking for threats. To him, a person was a threat... any person. So... right now... he could see about 8 people give or take... eight potential threats... people who might want to hurt Sam. He glared at each one of them, sending most of them scurrying in a different direction, or back into their rooms. He nodded slowly, walking now only about two feet away from Sam, easily keeping up with the tall teenager.

"I know... but I should get back..." he said, speeding up again even though he knew the guy could easily keep up with him. Sam gripped the backpack 'strap' that was over his shoulder with one hand, tighter as he glanced back at Dean for a second then ahead of himself. He walked down several steps and then towards the exit, pushing it open and moving into the parking lot. "They probably got called last night, so they're on their way back now, I should be there when they uh... get back.." he said, not looking back at Dean again, barely keeping himself from out right running just then, the guy was freaking him out.

Dean easily moved again at a faster pace, then pulled Sam's shoulder, spinning him back around to face him. "You can't... you don't know what might happen." he said, his voice laced with a misplaced sense of danger. The logical side of him knew that there was no threat to Sam... but he almost wanted there to be a threat. He wanted to hit something... he was confused and frustrated... and now, to top that off... Sam was trying to leave. He didn't want to lose Sam... he would do what he had to, if it meant keeping Sam safe... even if that meant not letting him go back to his family. Family... something that didn't really mean much to Dean. He hadn't had one... the only person he had ever thought of as family was Sam. He had let him be taken away, and now fully regretted that. It wasn't fair... then again, he knew life wasn't fair. "They can come find you then..." he said, not giving in to Sam's 'they are on their way back' comment. If they REALLY truly cared about Sam, then they could come find him...

Sam flinched as Dean pulled him around by his shoulder to face him, saying, 'You can't... you don't know what might happen. They can come find you then...' "D, It's only like a miles walk...! There's no danger! Since I went to the boarding school the first time I've walked back and forth a thousand times!" he said desperately, trying to shrug off his hand, ending up yanking away and backing up from Dean. "Dude... you're scaring me.." he said, backing up yet even farther and looking at him through wide vivid eyes.

Dean paused, hearing Sam saying, 'you're scaring me.' He never wanted to hear that from Sam... 'Not your Sam.' his thoughts reminded him. Didn't matter... still someone's Sam. He stayed where he was for several seconds, his mind was reeling. He didn't want to scare Sam... but he wasn't going to let him leave either. "No..." he said quietly, looking around the parking lot again. Not many people were up yet... he guessed it was about 4 AM. He took another step toward Sam and twitched slightly, his hazel green eyes widening at the thought in his mind. 'Knock him out... easier.' 'No.' 'you know he won't come if you don't.' 'But... I...' 'Shut up... you KNOW that he won't come if you don't make him.' he argued mentally. He took another step toward Sam, still not knowing which side of him would win this... though it was starting to become clear. 'Don't lose Sam.'

Sam gulped multiple times, trying to force down the lump growing in his throat. He flinched every time Dean took a step towards him, scrambling backwards to get away until his back rammed against a pole. He slide around it, still backing up and not turning his back to Dean, only stopping when he heard cars behind him. "please... stay away from me..." he said quietly.

Dean flinched at Sam's words and stepped back as he saw the fear in the teens eyes as he had spoken, 'Stay away from me.' He blinked rapidly, clearing his thoughts. He knew it was for the best. What if someone tracked Sam down? What if they tried to use Sam against him? What if someone hurt him, because they had found out that he had talked to Dean? No, he couldn't let that happen. "Please..." he said, looking at Sam with a desperate look of his own, and backing away. He looked up at the dark rainy sky and wondered, 'Why am I doing this? The kid has a life... if he comes with me, it may never be the same.' 'Doesn't matter... do what you have to!' "But... Aghh why does everything have to be so hard!?" he said aloud in response to himself, looking desperately at Sam. He coughed several times, glaring up at the gray, cold sky for a moment, then back at Sam... he had to make him come... or try at very least... no... no try. He would... he had to.

Sam cringed as Dean said 'But... Aghh why does everything have to be so hard!?'. 'Just go with him... get away in a few days when he's not suspecting...' he told himself, seeing the desperate expression as he had worded 'please'. It seemed like the guy would do pretty much anything to get him to come... he shook his head slightly and wrapped his arms around himself, looking at the ground as a submissive wordless answer, bright green glancing up through dark brown until he looked back at the ground with an expression of pure defeat and confusion. He didn't know what he wanted. He didn't know why he wouldn't let him go. He didn't-... he pushed away the thoughts and waited for D to do something.

Dean looked at Sam, as he actually stopped leaving, trying to leave... so he would come? Okay... good. They needed to leave. He looked at Sam with a 'Please don't run' expression, then nodded toward the parking lot. "C'mon... we need a ride." he stated. Yes, it was stealing, and he didn't really like the idea of cops chasing them because of a stolen car... but it didn't matter... they weren't gonna get far walking. He moved forward, looking for a car that someone had perhaps left unlocked.

Sam looked up at the Chevy Impala, slowly trudging after Dean as he said 'c'mon... we need a ride.' He treaded forward staying close but not to close, just enough to be able to keep up, glancing around the parking lot occasionally. Sam waited outside the passenger side, looking at the black color of the car and letting out a quiet, confused sigh to himself.

Dean looked at the car... a black Impala... something seemed so familiar about it. He stared at the car, which was well taken care of, looked brand new. He blinked slowly, staring at it for a long time before it hit him... this car... why it looked so familiar... no. Couldn't be. He looked back at the motel, then at the car. Their father had owned one just like it... like exactly like it. His eyes widened and he suddenly felt panic flare up inside him. Was it John? Was it? Had he come back to find them? Would he separate them again? Would he? Dean knew, somewhere, logically, that was ridiculous... he was 19 years old... John Winchester had NO control whatsoever over him... but... still, the confused, drug addled part of his mind didn't care... wouldn't listen to reason... nothing. If this was that Impala, and John Winchester was in town... he wasn't gonna let that man get his grubby hands on Sam... h***, he wasn't gonna let him get his grubby hands on his own car. "This is what I call revenge." he muttered, looking back at the building and flipping it off, as though John would actually see him do it. He pulled out his CAR lock pick, which was really just a coat wire. He pulled on the door handle, then jammed the wire in the crack of the door and slid it until it clicked. 'Hah!' he thought, pulling the door open and reaching to the passenger side and unlocking that. He waited for Sam to get in, then started hotwiring the car. He would need keys made for it... and, of course, he would actually need to check the trunk... to make SURE it was the right car... but d*mn... it looked the same.

**So, there was chapter four... I'm thinking that theres action in the next chapter, if I recall correctly. Well, there's going to be action soon either way! Hopefully... AAhhhh what could go wrong? : D Winchester luck, I swear. (Sorry for any spelling mistakes btw)**


	5. Chapter 5: Chevy Impala 1967

Dean glanced across the seat to Sam, who had made some sort of sound, which he assumed had been words. Of course, he wasn't sure entirely, and hadn't understood at all. Seconds later, the engine roared to life. He smiled slightly at the loud purr of the Impala's engine. "That's it, Baby... It's me." he muttered to the car, as though it should know him. He grinned up at the motel building, a triumphant expression the only one showing. It replaced his anger, irritation, tiredness, and mistrust, leaving only that, and a small spark of something else... happiness... something he hadn't had in... well... a long time. "Mk... NOW we're getting out of here..." he stated aloud. He had just begun backing out of the parking lot, when someone... a kid... maybe 13-ish, ran out of the building, looking in dismay as the Impala backed out of the parking spot. "Suck it up kid. Can't always get what you want." he said aloud, staring at the kid's expression. WHo was he? He was travelling with John... why? He shrugged it off and turned the car, pulling out of the lot just in time to see something out the rearview mirror that made a grin spread across his face, and his hazel green eyes sparkled with a look that said, 'Take that.' John Winchester ran from the building, standing with his mouth wide and his eyebrows angled down angrily as they left. He stopped the car for an instant, rolled down the window, and let his crazy side do the talking, "You can freakin' WALK!" he yelled back, then peeled out of the driveway. He didn't so much as glance back. He didn't care what happened to the man.

Sam looked out the window at the kid and the man that both came out of the building, the kid looking in dismay as the man looked like he might rip someone's head off, Dean's voice sounding through the car, 'suck it up kid. Can't always get what you want. YOU can freakin' WALK!'. Something looked eerily familiar about the older man... but before he could really look at the guy, he had started running after them, 'Yeah that's gonna work..' the thought sarcastically and took less than a second to realize he'd said it out loud. His eyes grew wide for a second and his gaze dropped, shaking his head slightly and cursing at himself, before looking out his own window and leaning against the door.

Dean looked over at Sam, as he sarcastically said, 'Yeah, that's gonna work,' when the man, A.K.A John, began chasing after them. He laughed out loud at that. People were so stupid sometimes. EVERYONE always tried running after the cars... it never worked. He looked from the road to Sam and back several times. "Yeah, maybe I should slow down and let him catch up... we can drag him a few miles!" he teased, his eyes wide with a slightly deranged expression. He kept driving though, showing no signs of slowing down... but rather, just the opposite. They were leaving this place...

"Yeah, but he's just some guy." Sam replied to Dean's teasing as he saw the somewhat deranged look on his face. Sam leaned his head against the window, his crazy 90 MPH thoughts were giving him an headache. He pulled his arms around himself farther after tugging his backpack closer also, staring at the wildly passing landscaping of Maine, Haven Maine... Op, there went his house. And his neighbors. Okay, that was the boarding school.

"Yeah... PFff Sure." he replied sarcastically. Just 'some guy.' He was... that was all he was to Dean. Some guy that had married his mother... stuff happened and he and Sam were born. Other than that... the man had taught them a FEW useful life lessons, then ditched them. He had always told Sam that John was dead... he didn't want to let that ruin Sam's perception of their father. He had done all he could to make things seem like their dad had no choice... he had died, and so, that was why they ended up where they had. But no... that wasn't what REALLY happened. He had left them... left them as wards of the state... Dean never had, and never would forgive him for that, no matter how long he would live, and no matter whether John wanted forgiveness or not. "New York." he stated, changing the subject. It was close enough... they could make it there soon... a day's travel. If John Winchester was the same as he used to be, which, Dean assumed he was. Then the man would NEVER call the cops... so, the car would not be considered stolen... and no one would be the wiser. They were safe for the time being.

"WHA... Uh.. what?" he asked, softening his tone after his sudden outburst as Dean said they were going to New York. He let his head thump against the window several times and his eyes squeezed shut, a sigh breaking from him as his expression forcefully relaxed, his muscles still tensed though. "You c.." he started, but stopped, 'now, you could just let me go, I wouldn't tell anyone, I promise..' the words stuck in his throat like bitter honey. The guy wouldn't let him go. He knew that.

Dean glanced at Sam, seeing his expression, which was one of disguised panic. He sighed quietly, knowing that Sam wouldn't understand. He didn't... he had wanted to leave before. Sam wasn't Sam. 'You're right... this ISN'T my Sam...' he thought to himself. 'Told you.' he replied mentally. 'Yeah, whatever. I'm still not stopping the car until I know that John is at least a hundred miles in my rearview mirror.' he replied again. Silence. Yup... "When'd'y think your family will get back?" he asked, not actually caring a bit about that, but asking anyway.

"M, three hours, maybe." Sam said, loosing his American accent for an English one again, it was so hard to force it back 24/7, and he tried, he did, but he couldn't always remember, he couldn't always care, he didn't always keep it hidden. 'Conceal it...' he told himself mentally, and let his face burry into the black backpack.

"What, do they own their own private plane?! Wait... don't ... don't answer that." Dean stuttered, realizing that they probably did. Rich people... they all seemed to own their own plane, three sports cars, a HUGE house, and about everything else they wanted as well. He sighed quietly, looking straight ahead at the road. He figured it would be better to say something than drive all the way there in silence. "What are your parents names?" he asked, emphasizing 'parents' with slight disgust, though he had hidden it well enough.

Sam puffed out air in a near humorless laugh, still staying in the same position, now wondering why he suddenly was being nice... or, well, hospitality, doesn't necessarily mean you're really actually being nice. "Mum 'n Dad?" he said lamely, not bothering to force in his American accent for the time being. "Linda 'n mm... Richard." he replied. They always referred to him as 'Samuel', they thought it was more, elegant, or something. Frankly, he hated it. Though he wouldn't say that, not to them, they would just give him some berating to tell him that 'Sam' was to American and common sounding.

"Oh... okay... Linda and Richard. Great." Dean said, thinking, 'They're probably snobby British people whose noses are turned up at everything that isn't good enough for them.' But he didn't speak his thoughts, knowing that it would bother Sam… he also knew that not all British people were that way. He was just being his normal, rather rude, self. IT was a confusing subject. Sam seemed to WANT to defend them... but at the same time... he didn't seem like he really truly thought they were all that wonderful. "I see... when did y' start going to boarding school?" he asked, again just to break the silence in the car. He was fine with questions, as long as he was the one asking them.

"Three years, 'bout. Think... yeah. Three." Sam replied, moving his face away from the backpack only long enough to answer and glance at Dean, then replaced his head into the backpack and resting against the window, his arms wrapped around the black pack. He was getting KIDNAPPED, and he was asking him about boarding school and his parents? Though, he didn't mind the questions, as long as it broke the silence in the car.

"Uh... okay. Why don't your parents just teach you?" he asked, figuring that it would have been better for Sam. Boarding school was like a nice way of saying, 'We're too busy for you.' He wondered if Sam thought that too, but he wasn't gonna say it. For one reason or another, his less 'mental' side was more in control at that point, though he wasn't exactly normal. 'You kidding, YOU? NORMAL? Hah! Two words like that don't belong in the same sentence.' he thought. "Thanks for that." he mumbled to himself.

"They're busy, he has a high paying job that needs him to travel a lot, so, she goes with 'em, and, they manage to turn it into a vacation. Even txt pictures at times." he said, accidently spitting out 'even text pictures at times,' in a full blown American accent with annoyance to boot. He swallowed the emotions down and finally managed to push away the 'proper accent'.

"Sounds great... pictures. They ever take you places?" he asked, looking straight at the road as he spoke. He shivered slightly, not from cold. No drugs... he was hooked on them, and he didn't have them. 'Sh!t... great thinking, 'genius.' This is gonna get worse for you before it gets better.' he nodded at his own thought, but figured he could deal with that when it became something vital.

"No, not really. Dunno why." Sam replied with an uncaring shrug, he was used to it now. And besides, he stayed at the boarding school most of the time now anyways, and he was fine with that. "They do sometimes, but only when they couldn't find a sitter basically." he said, nodding in agreement to himself. He'd been a lot of places, the trips sometimes lasted extremely long times, going from place to place/country/city/towns around the world.

"Hmph." he gave as some sort of reply. It wasn't exactly a reply, but it would do. He sighed and looked at the sun, which was just now rising in the distance... it was now 6:02 AM. He flicked on the radio of the Impala, which, at the time was set to tapes. He smiled slightly as AC/DC played. Hey, if there was one good thing about John, it had been his taste in music. Dean glanced at Sam, shrugging slightly and asking, "So... w-where all have you been?" he frowned at the slight stutter, but ignored it.

"Um... I dunno." he said with a shrug before taking account of the places he had been and continuing, "Traveled Europe, like Scotland, Ireland, Paris even. Been to Baghdad, Russia, Saudi Arabia... if you ever get the chance, go to the zoo's there. But if you get offered an camel ride, don't take it. They're drooly, weird creatures that try to eat your hair."

Dean smiled, laughing at the last bit. "Hey, you can't blame the camel for trying to eat THAT." he said, pointing to Sam's mop-like hair. He chuckled quietly, but nodded at the rest of what Sam said. "No camels... got it." he agreed. twitching slightly at the sound of the distant thunder storm. 'Ugh... MORE rain?' he thought in irritation.

"Hey! Jerk." he said with an high pitched laugh, 'ha's' separated by less than a second, ending in an sigh like 'Aaahhhh' sound, swatting away D's finger/hand as he pointed to his hair. He looked out the window at the puffy grey clouds that gathered back up into the sky, rolls of thunder and cracks in the sky getting slowly closer. He leaned back in the seat and against the door yet again.

Dean's eyes widened slightly at the laughter. Laughing... someone laughing around him. Odd... not normal. But not bad. He had missed that actually. He hadn't realized it until just that moment though. "B!tch." he replied with a slight smile. He didn't know how the kid would take being called that, but hey... he shrugged slightly, a smile crossing his lips for a moment, then he returned to looking out the front window.

Sam huffed out air in another laugh, smiling and eventually returning to normal, tapping his fingers on the backpack and frowning slightly, deep in thought before he pulled himself out of his thoughts and back to reality. New York. Kidnapped. Eh. Hmh. Interesting.

Dean sighed quietly, letting his thoughts bounce around inside his mind, all trying to think of what to do next. Kidnapping, stealing a car... okay, well, technically, it wasn't stealing... but... well, John wouldn't see it that way. He shrugged, thinking, 'Don't care what he thinks. Guess I'll always be a disappointment to the man.' he didn't care. It wasn't his or Sam's fault that John was a jerk. He knew that his father would probably hate what he had become... if he didn't like him before... he wouldn't even look at him now. 'Ah, whatever. Keep talking... talk... stop thinking.' He nodded, again asking Sam something. "D-did you ever... uh... have you ever moved from a... different state, or always lived here?" he asked.

That one was a bit harder to answer. Before his 'parents' had adopted him, he had moved around from state to state with brother and father, so there was that, but no, he was going to leave that bit out. "Lived in Colorado once, for about a year, they got bored of it, moved here, never moved again." he replied after a long pause of debating inside his noggin'. "'N, you?" he asked nearly automatically in what his parents had taught him to do, ask questions, and answer questions. 'Aw h***.' 'watch your language, Samuel!' his thoughts had gone right after asking... he just asked his kidnapper about his past, where he had lived, and this certain kidnapper, obviously didn't live anywhere for the time being. 'Good going..' he hissed at himself, grunting and fighting himself on what to do. 'Just leave it, he can think what he wants.'

Dean frowned slightly at the question. He didn't want to answer. Besides, it was nothing but a sad, long, dull story full of crap that wasn't anything that any sane person would want to hear. "Been everywhere at least once." he answered briskly. It was an answer. He had debated not saying anything at all. "Doesn't matter though..." he said, running one hand over the steering wheel of the car. "I've got a home..." he said, referring, of course, to the Impala.

**OKay, so, chapter five! Sorry about mistakes, it's un-beta'd**


	6. Chapter 6: No Trouble at All

**Diclaimer: Neither VanillaJohn nor I own them or anything to do with SPN, obviously. Because if I did, believe me when I say, some things would be different. And possibly a buttload more brotherly moments.**

**Sorry, I said there was action in the last chapter but there wasn't! *Looks ashamed* Hang in there though! The action is coming along with explanations! and, thank you all for sticking around! :D Reviews are love! Oh, and there IS action in this one! Promise, I swear! And they might even find out soon... We shall see.. :)**

_MEMORY/DREAM: Cold. Dark. Alone. The nine, soon to be ten-year old looked up from the floor to the door, staring at it with a spark of hope... maybe his parents would walk through the door again... maybe... he flinched at a noise and then let out an relieved, odd sound as the door did open... a water bottle shoved it, then closed and locked again. Sam moved forward, snatching the bottle and then moving back to the corner, pulling the blanket farther up... he hoped his parents would get back soon..._

_A month later...; It was one day from his birthday... right? He didn't know how long it had been... he didn't know how long he had been there, in the basement. He didn't know... he felt sick... no... hungry... his dark, sunken in eyes stayed closed, his facial features unmoving, his now-paled and ashen skin having not seen the light since his 'parents' left. His ribs made 'indents' in the grey shirt the sitter had given him, his steady breathing filling the room alongside the occasional growl/rumble from his stomach. He was exhausted, he was running on less than fumes... He hated it here. He hated them. He hated the sitter. He hated the mice-infested room where he spent all his time for the past three years when 'they' went on vacation. He hated the smell... he hated his reflection... He just wanted one thing... ONE... thing... "D'n..." he mumbled under his breath, his mind lost and confused, but at the same time, painfully aware. He knew Dean wasn't there. He never was going to be there. Because of Linda and Richard... the ten year old shook his head, fighting off the blood boiling anger, as it left he was left only in misery, aching, tired, hungry, depressed, scared, ALONE. ALONE. 'Alone.'. He was racked with an heart-wrenching sob and gripped by coughs that followed, tears falling from his closed eyes over his bony, tightened, small, boyish face. "Dean..." he muttered again, sniffing hard and curling in on himself, feeling another sob break from his chest. Soon the room was filled with the broken record sound, his chest quaking at the effort of every breath, his whole body shaking and jolting, all until his emotions started affecting him in reality._

Dean looked out at the dark sky. It was about 8:30... But the sky was dark and clouded... as it had been for many days previous. He coughed quietly, staring at the road ahead of them. 50 MILES FROM NEW YORK. He looked at the sign and nodded slowly, glancing at Sam, who was now in the passenger seat, asleep. He kept driving, barely noticing how quiet it was until Sam started mumbling. At first... it was quiet, and not understandable... but seconds passed, and the longer Sam mumbled, the more he understood what Sam was saying... over and over, his voice scared and hurting. 'Dean.' He kept calling it over and over. He flinched, denying the urge to slam on the brakes... nope. He knew better. His mind was in shock... should he even be surprised? Should he even believe what he had heard? Dean breathed sharply, slowing the black impala down and pulling off the road. No... impossible. Sam... knew his name. How? How did this, British kid... British Sam... know his name? He knew... no... 'I was right... I was.' he thought. 'No... it's just your imagination.' "Sammy..." he whispered, leaning toward the 15-year-old and shaking his shoulder gently. His hazel/green eyes were wide and completely focused on Sam. "Sam... wake up..." he continued quietly.

"Dean..." he whimpered again, trembling in reality and his 'dream'.. memory.. nightmare, whatever. Sam flinched as his world started shaking, and his eyes un-focusing on the black, if that was possible... until he heard somebody's voice calling him, 'Sammy... Sam... wake up...'. He sat bolt upright in the passenger seat, gasping to catch his breath, his eyes stretched wide until he recalled everything that had happened, kidnapping, car, angry man, right. He let it out in one long breath, practically deflating in the seat and letting his face rest into the backpack. 'What did I say?' he thought suddenly, but resisted the urge to blurt out his question. He let out a low moan, hiding the tears that had unfortunately started to fall while he was dreaming. "'M 'wake..." he said in a muffled, groggy voice, sniffing and swallowing hard. 'Get back together...' he told himself, feeling like he was going around collecting a bunch of shattered and scattered shards of glass and dumping them into a backpack whenever he told himself to hold himself together again, collect himself.

"How... do you know?" he asked, his mind not wrapping around the facts as it should have. How did Sam know his name? That was the only question on his mind. He turned of the Impala's engine, staring into Sam's eyes for a few moments. "What... w-where you dreaming about?" he asked, his eyes staring at Sam, as though he couldn't pry them away.

Sam moved his head away from the backpack, running a hand over his face to get rid of the tear trails before returning Dean's gaze, flinching slightly as the kidnapper dude, D, stared at him intently and asked, 'How... do you know? What... w-were you dreaming about?'. "I-" he started, his voice cracking out in confusion, "Nothing! Nothing, doesn't matter, just a nightmare..." he said, his voice dying into more of a whisper as he looked away from Dean. It HURT. 'Ignore it... just ignore it...' he told himself, trying to push away the emotions again into a cage buried somewhere inside of his mind.

"Yes it does... it does matter." he answered, not dropping it... he wouldn't just let it be. If this kid knew his name... then... could that mean... did that mean, that maybe... just maybe, this was actually 'his' Sam? He bit his lip, trying to force himself to look calmer than he felt. He was tense, extremely so. He looked at Sam, who was attempting to push it off as nothing... ATTEMPTING.

"No it doesn't! Why the H*** would it matter? How could some guy whose kidnapping me, give a d***? When no one-" he blurted and rambled, until he managed to shut his mouth, stop any other regrettable words from coming out. "Sorry." he apologized quickly, looking over to the guy then back out the window. "It was just a nightmare, like I said. Just a stupid memory."

Dean knew what Sam was going to say, even without having said it. He flinched at that. If this really was his brother... then he thought no one cared about him? That was so wrong. That was never supposed to happen. "It does... it... it just... does." he said, sounding more like a 5 year old, then 19. "Mk..." he replied reluctantly. He was never one for talking about feelings... and it seemed that Sam didn't want to either... but at this point... he wished that he would just... say something. "I didn't want to lose you." he stated, remembering what had happened 11 years ago at the orphanage.

Sam nodded, biting his lip and keeping from saying anything, practically holding his breath. He was DYING to say something, DYING to feel ALIVE. Sam felt another feeling of pity as the older teen said 'I didn't want to lose you.', so, he really had no one? That's what this all was about? He felt alone... alone... 'Stop thinking stop thinking keep yourself together!' he repeated in his head, though after a while his breath hitched in his throat and he slumped in the passenger seat, his thoughts In a jumble, he just wanted to make sense of them.

Dean stayed silent, seeing the emotions crossing Sam's face. He was confused. Dean couldn't help but blame himself for that. He had yanked the kid away from everything he knew. His school, his family, heck, he had even pulled the kid out of the state. He shook his head slowly, opening, then closing his mouth. He hated seeing Sam like this... and it was his fault. Just then, he said something that he NEVER wanted to say... he wished for all he was worth that he hadn't said it, or could take it back... but he was still going to say it. "I... can... take you... back... i.. if.. you... w-w-wan.t..." he stuttered, his voice coming out lame and quiet.

Sam looked somewhat shocked and surprised by Dean's quiet words, but said nothing for several seconds/minutes/moments. He didn't, he did, he didn't, he did. More on the outside, yes, he did, inside, deeper, no, he didn't, and he didn't even know why, and that bothered him, along with every other scrambled thought. "I don't... I don't know..." he choked out, closing his eyes and shaking his head. 'there's... Joshua... and... Mary...' his mind started, but after a while, ended up in the same place. 'Joshua's leaving in a month, moving. Mary's getting married to someone in another country, Linda and Richard are always gone. What is there left?' no... he...he knew... sort of... he..he had to find Dean. He had to find his brother.

Dean waited for Sam to make a decision more than just 'don't know.' He stayed silent, looking desperately at Sam. Could it actually be his brother? He wanted to believe it, but at the same time, he thought, 'No... I've never had a single bit of good luck in my life... why would it start now?' Still, he clung to some kind of hope that maybe Sam... this Sam, wouldn't want to leave.

"No... n-n-no I can't.. I've gotta f-find my brother." he finally said, the dream had pushed him off an emotion cliff and now he realized it... he realized everything all to well... Sam sucked in a deep breath to calm himself, his face hardening into determination, hope, and again, determination... His shoulders were tense and he occasionally ran a hand over his bruised jaw.

Dean felt like he'd been shot, and at the same time saved. Sam... whether it was HIS Sam or not... was looking for a brother... if this was Sam... then... Sam was looking for HIM. 'Just tell him your name!' half of him said. 'No! No! We don't do that.' he argued in his mind. 'Why? What harm could it do?' he shrugged, but ignored it for now... he wouldn't... not yet. "Mk..." he said quietly as he started the engine and got back onto the road, looking at Sam for a moment. He looked more determined than he had only minutes before... at least there was that.

Sam nodded gratefully and leaned against the door, staring out the window, kind of wishing that... okay, not kind of, completely wishing that they could just instantly be there. Wherever there was, where was 'there' exactly anywhere? Just somewhere in New York, he guessed. Sam leaned back against the seat and then rocked forward again against the door, blinking rapidly and staring outside of the car. "Hey, D, you wanna stop at a motel for the night?" he asked and stared out, only sometimes risking a glance at him.

"Uh..." the elder teen sputtered, looking at Sam with a 'Is that a good idea' expression. "S-sure..." he replied. They were now in New York. They had just entered the state line. They didn't need to go far to find a motel, he knew that... but he wanted to find one that was out of the way... that would be nice. He blinked once, then looked at Sam again for a second. "We'll... stop soon." he said thinking, 'this whole motel thing is like... well, like how we used to live... when Dad was... when he actually cared about us.'

15 MINUTES later: Sam stared distantly out the window, for several seconds, not even moving, even though they were parked in the motels parking lot infact. Finally he 'flinched himself awake' so it seemed, smiling distantly at Dean for less than a second before getting out, closing the Impala door and walking inside the motel, getting a key and coming back out, stopping somewhere on the small porch and pulling his jacket closer to himself ,shivering lightly from the cold and waiting for the 'designated driver'.

Dean saw Sam come back, and left the car, locking it and taking his 'key' with him. A bent coat hanger... yup. Needed to have a key made, and then fix the damage he had done by hotwiring it. He sighed at the thought, then looked over at Sam. He had one thing to check... He moved to the back of the Impala and, after a minute of fidgeting, twisting the wire, and a few curses, he unlocked it. He pulled the trunk open, then reached forward, lifting the false bit of it, just high enough to see the cache of weapons. Yup, this was the right Impala. The only one in the whole world like itself. He smiled and closed the trunk again, then turned and headed toward the motel. He glared slightly as he spotted about 4 guys, hanging out in the dark by the side of the motel. One of them was smoking, three of them were drinking, ALL of them looked suspicious. Dean moved slightly faster, not liking the look of them. He had seen enough people like that to know when they weren't just there for the hangout spot.

"Mmhm, hey, we got #43." Sam informed and looked around, knowing it was on ground level. He started walking to his right, looking for the right number and holding the key in his hand. Finally! He thought as he found the right room, fiddling with the key with cold hands, trying to fit it into the lock. He felt a hand on his chest shoving him roughly backwards for the forth time in the past two days and groaned quietly, frowning and looking at the slowly gathering group, one blocking the door, the one who shoved him was standing right in front of him as Sam caught his balance, and the last one was standing somewhere between the room and D. "We could just come back later?" he whispered only loud enough for Dean to hear. The guy in front of him stepped forward again, laughing as Sam stepped back, keeping the distance between them, "We don't want any trouble..."

Dean was instantly pushed back into street-smart-don't-mess-with-Sam mode. He stepped forward, pushing Sam behind him and glaring at the four guys... a fat one, two scrawny ones, and a muscled one. That one was a bit more concerning than the others... but hey... three out of four's not bad.

Dean's green/hazel eyes stared at them, then he spoke, his voice back to its almost inhuman sound. "Get the h*** out of our way." he commanded. At that, the four laughed, and the fat one stepped forward, swinging a punch. "To slow fatso." he muttered, dodging the fat guys punch and using the man's weight against him. He grabbed the guys arm and twisted it back, at the same moment, kicking his knee forward. The fat guy toppled to the ground with a curse. From that point, Dean moved forward, not waiting for an attack, but GIVING one. No one messed with Sam and got away with it.

Sam let out an hearable groan and flinched, jumping out of the way as the fat guy toppled to the ground, his vocabulary turning into that of a sailor's. Sam looked back at D as he continued to fight the four, twitching occasionally at the cracks and or groans/moans. "Dean!" he yelled a warning, thoughtlessly saying Dean's name. He frowned slightly and looked around, not bothering to wait, he grabbed a brick from near one of the doors and slammed it over the scrawny guy who was moving towards D. Sam dropped the brick on the ground, accidently having it land on the unconscious man's face, "Oop, sorry, sorry, sorry."

Dean flinched as he heard Sam calling his name, not because he had said it... but because... it was Sam... it had to be. He lost focus for only a moment, which was a mistake. He groaned and jumped back as the muscular man slashed his arm with a knife. "D*mnIT!" he hissed, dodging and thinking, 'So not fair to bring a knife to a fist fight.' He glanced back, just long enough to see Sam wack a man over the head with a brick, then drop it on his face. He had to laugh as Sam apologized profusely for it. He called, "Sammy, don't apologize... We're fighting them." he laughed as the man in front of him got a grim, irritated expression. The man lunged at him. He dodged, but was still spun when the man's shoulder made contact with his shoulder. He grimaced and thought, 'well, hey, I've got a good shot now.' The man was turned away from him, so he took that opportunity to kick the man's butt, literally. It sent the angry gangster sprawling forward onto his stomach with and angry torrent of all kinds of obscenities.

Sam nodded, laughing tensely at D's words. 'Since when does anyone call me Sammy?' he thought, though only moved far away from the angry, cursing, large, well-muscled man as he was sent sprawling to the ground. Sam moved closer to Dean, seeing now that only the last scrawny man and the muscled man were still bothering to fight, but even the muscled gangster was down -literally- at the moment.

Dean barely acknowledged Sam's laughter, mostly because he was still in, I-want-to-kill-them-for-touching-Sam mode. But he managed to flash a slight smile to Sam. He moved toward the muscled gangster and pushed his knee against the man's back, keeping him pinned to the ground. He jerked the man's knife out of his hand, then turned, just enough to see the skinny dude running at Sam. He hissed quietly to himself, but didn't hesitate. He threw the knife, and it stuck in the skinny guy with a sickening thud. The guy toppled over, screaming in pain and pulling the knife from his shoulder. Dean Still refused to release the last one. The two skinny guys, and the fat one were running... but this guy... he wasn't leaving... He wrapped one arm around the guys neck and pulled up and back, cutting of the guys air supply.

Sam jumped in surprise as a scream erupted from the scrawny guy who was running towards him, and, well, he could see why, as the man pulled Dean's knife from his shoulder and bolted with the other and the fat gangster. Sam moved forward away from the door towards Dean, gripping his shoulder and hearing the man's desperate gasping and wheezing as he tried to breath, "D... D!" he called his name, his eyes stretched wide as the fifteen year old uselessly tried to pry his arm from around the man's neck, "Dean!" he finally yelled, his heart chipping off inside of his chest as he realized what he had done. 'He's not your brother, what did you do!?'

Dean had ignored all of Sam's attempts to pry him away from the man, that is, until he had yelled his name, practically right in his ear. He flinched, but instantly released his grip on the gagging gangster. He shoved the man forward, away from himself and looked back at Sam, his eyes shimmering with confusion and... something else. It was Sam. It REALLY was Sam. It wasn't his imagination... it wasn't some coincidence... it WAS SAM. "Sam... You... you, know... you r..." he stopped and stood up, looking at Sam with wide eyes and breathing a long shaky sigh. "I... didn't..." he didn't know what he was trying to say... at this point... the voices in his head had ceased to argue... now they were all as dumb founded as he was at that point... no help whatsoever.

Sam let go of Dean as soon as he had let go of the gangster and shoved him forward. Sam backed up several steps, mentally cursing himself, why did he have to keep messing up? Messing THAT up? He swallowed hard and crammed his hands into his pockets, looking up at D as he said 'Sam... You... you, know... you r... I didn't...' "What did I do?" he asked, repositioning his backpack and staring wide-eyed at the guy.

Again, Dean repeated the question he had asked before they arrived at New York. "How do you know?" he asked quietly, looking into Sam's bright green eyes with a desperate expression. He wasn't going to let it drop this time. He stared at Sam, unmoving from this spot. He could hear the gangster moving, standing up and leaving, running actually, but paid no attention to him. "How did you know... my name?" he asked, looking into Sam's eyes with an unblinking stare.


	7. Chapter 7: MIZZ Hctiw

**Disclaimer: Don't own SPN, duh.**

"No, no, I don't, I, what, I..." Sam rambled, his head spinning. 'how did you know... my name?'. "What?" he finally managed. 'It's a name! People have names! Coincidence! That's all it is, it's nothing...' even his mind was rambling at that point. "It's... it's... my brother's name... 'm sorry, it was an accident, didn't mean to say it..." he blurted, though he didn't even know what he was talking about anymore. He raked a hand over his face and through his hair, closing his eyes for several seconds and feeling his heart pounding against his ribcage.

"I know..." he said quietly. He did know. It was Sam... there were really no such things as 'coincidence.' And, it seemed, that for the first time in his life... something GOOD had actually happened. "Sam... I shouldn't... have... let... them take you..." he said, remembering the scared expression on Sam's face the day he had left... 4 years old, and terrified of leaving...

Sam wasn't breathing. Yes? No. Was he breathing? He didn't know. He didn't think he was, but how come he was still upright? "Dean?" he croaked out, standing stock still for what seemed like an eternity before finally forcing himself forwards, wrapping his arms around his tattoo covered brother. "No, they were good p-parents, you didn't do anything wrong..." he counteracted and didn't move anymore, or say anything, just pushing his face into Dean's jacket for several moments, trying to wrap his mind around everything that had happened the past two days.

Dean flinched at the sudden change of... well, his life. It was definitely changed. He slowly let his arms move around Sam, now noticing that his arm was bleeding from the knife cut. 'Ah, doesn't hurt.' he thought. It wasn't bad anyway. He heard Sam's words, but they didn't click. He didn't care what kind of parents they were... they had left his little brother in a BOARDING school. A.L.O.N.E. "Sammy... I'm sorry... I shouldn't have left you alone." he chocked out the words, feeling like he had been hit by a train... but for once, the freakin train wasn't trying to kill him...

Sam gripped the back of Dean's jacket, like any second he would wake up and it was all some kind of twisted dream... he opened his eyes, checking, nope, still there, everything, before closing them again. "No, D'n, 'm sorry I left YOU alone.." he croaked through an temporarily hoarse voice.

"You didn't leave me... not really." he said, shrugging his shoulders to try to adjust for the shaking that had started. He took a deep breath, then exhaled, blowing Sam's hair around at the same time. "But... D*mn I missed you..." he coughed. He HATED letting other people see how he felt... but, at this point... it was okay. He hadn't seen Sam in 11 years... so, he figured a little emotion wouldn't hurt... and a lot wouldn't kill...

Sam finally moved away from his brother, blinking rapidly and feeling the pressure of emotions that had been building up for, well, since that day, finally seeming to release for say. "Missed you too..." he said sincerely, smiling and re-adjusting his backpack again, laughing inwardly at the strangeness of how they had re-met.

Dean nodded, looking up at the sky for a moment. 'Oh...' "How long has it been raining?" he finished his thought aloud. He looked at Sam through his tired, smiling eyes. He didn't really care how long it had rained, or how long it would continue to rain... he had Sam back. He looked around once, then back at Sam. "Best freakin' day I've had in over 11 years." he stated, laughing awkwardly and running both hands through his re-soaked, short, blonde hair. "I looked f-for you for... a long time... didn't know they moved... so... I couldn't... find you." he coughed, his teeth chattering slightly from the cold. While his mind didn't notice it, the rest of him did.

"Yeah, boogers moved to Maine." Sam said, laughing slightly and feeling scarily comfortable around his 11 years MIA brother. Or Missing In Orphanage. MIO. His face contorted into an sympathetic expression and he didn't bother wiping it off this time, just staring at his brother somewhat distantly. Tattoos, probably addicted to drugs, living on the streets... he shook his head to clear his thoughts and trudged forward, pulling Dean along as he passed him and then unlocking the room with the key.

"WHoa..." Dean exclaimed as he was pulled forward by Sam. He followed without question though, and allowed himself to be lead forward. He knew he needed help. Drugs... drinking... smoking... every bad thing out there... he pretty much did. He didn't want Sam to see that side of him. 'Little late now, Genius.' his mind hissed at him. "I know." he replied aloud again, before shutting up and looking at Sam with an 'Oh, that was awkward' expression. Dean walked into the motel room and looked at Sam. "Maine... boogers... what?" he asked, looking completely confused.

He pulled him into the room and closed the door, hearing his confusion and laughing quietly, "You were talking about Linda and Richard. They moved... Boogers. Yes, I referred to them as boogers. Get it now?" he asked, getting water and a cloth for the injury on Dean's arm and coming back into the main room, gesturing with a nod for him to sit down.

"Oh... boogers. MK." he replied, sitting down as Sam practically ordered him to do so. "'M sorry..." he said, apologizing for... well, just about everything he had said and done the whole time. He wasn't good company, he had terrible manners, and he wasn't... well, he wasn't a 'good' person like he figured that Sam was probably used to. He had so many questions that he wanted to ask. What did Sam want to do when he graduated, who had his best friend been? Did he have a 'crush' on anyone? That thought made him smile slightly.

Sam nodded and started treating the injury, after a second, figuring it wouldn't need stitches. He turned Dean's arm over, looking at the needle marks up and down his arm, well, both arms. He only nodded once and grunted, not letting his emotions flow out to the top. "Don't apologize, Dean." he said, smiling and meeting his brothers eyes before going back to what he was doing. "So, D..." he started, then stopped, making a face as the accent came through. "I sound like a freakin' posh Brit dude."

Dean smiled slightly, his eyes not showing any pain that reflected from the knife wound. "Yeah, y' kinda do..." he said. "You can still cuss like a sailor though." he said with a grin. "Bad habits... I mean really... you were only 4... where'd you learn all that?" he teased, knowing where Sam had learned it. He leaned back against the wall, running his free hand over the one that Sam was dealing with, suddenly feeling ashamed of the scars, needle marks and multiple tattoos...

"OOh, oh yeah, where did I learn all that, I wonder..." he said sarcastically, thinking about his 'upbringing' for less than a second, Dean, he, and their father... their father. He missed him still, still thought about him. Sam shook his head to clear his thoughts, looking up at Dean's face for a second and then at his arms, then left to ditch the bloody cloth in the sink before he came back. "Y' need anything?" he asked, prepared to leave to pick up anything, food, clothes for Pete's sake. He had the money.

"Uh... no? Well... no." he said, his mind instantly arguing. 'Yeah, h***, we could use drugs... you're hooked.' He ignored the thought and looked at Sam with a smile that masked the fight in his mind. He blinked rapidly, then stood up, moving across the room the bed by the door and sitting down on it. He suddenly had a thought... Sam was not LEGAL age to make his own decisions... so... technically... if his 'parents' found him, and wanted him back... The thought hit him with the force of a bolt of lightening. "S**T" he muttered. Again, his fault. If it hadn't looked SO much like a kidnapping... then... this might not be a problem... but that was EXACTLY what it looked like. 'Crap.' he thought. "Your... parents... They'll look for you?" he asked, his voice lined with worry... and anger. He wasn't losing Sam again. He would do whatever he had to... whatever it took to keep Sam with him. He wouldn't let them, John... or ANYONE else take Sam from him...

"Mk... And... yes. Look you could say is an understatement." he grumbled bitterly, just imagining what they would do with their wealth. Spread the news, probably get all smothered over the internet, along with on the news, posters everywhere... great. Great! Wait... Ah. "Hey, you have a cell?" he asked, walking back towards his brother.

"Uhh... no. Oh... wait..." he grinned slightly. "It's not... strictly speaking, 'mine' but it'll work." he said, grinning as he looked out the window of the motel at the Impala. Their father would have at LEAST 4 cells in there. He nodded once to Sam, and then stood, leaving the motel room. He walked back out to the Impala and unlocked the door with the oh-so-handy wire key. He pulled the glove compartment open and pulled out a silver flip phone. He didn't question why Sam wanted it. He locked the door and walked back to the motel room, entering it and tossing the phone to Sam. "Mk... why'd you need it?" he asked, seconds later, the thought dawned on him. His brother was VERY clever... "Oh... you're good." he said. It was smart... but at the same time, SO easy...

Sam smiled as he took the phone, flipping it open and dialing in his Mom's cell number. Pick up, pick uuuppp... Sam waited patiently, pacing the motel room mostly for something to do, less out of impatience. "Mum... Mum, no, calm down please..." he said the minute she picked up, hearing police chatter in the background... so she was already there, in Maine. "I left. No, and please, for my sake mostly, keep this off the books, don't have anyone come looking for me. I'm fine... No... no. Yeah. I understand. A disappointment? Mum, I wanted a mother and a father, not a sitter. No, it's not just because of Mrs. Hctiw... No. Yes I miss Massa but- yeah. Yeah I get it. I know I am. Yeah bye." he said then flipped the phone shut, tossing it back to his brother, "Safe for now."

Dean stood silently as his little brother talked himself out of trouble. He smiled slightly, but the smile disappeared at the mention of someone named 'Mrs. Hcsecwe-something-he-couldn't-pronounce.' The mention of her name seemed to bother Sam... and he hated seeing Sam bothered by anything. The second Sam hung up, Dean instantly went on to the question his mind was so blatantly intending for him to ask. "Who's hicwooot... or... whatever." he asked, mispronouncing the name intentionally this time, and watching Sam's eyes for a response.

**Another small, small cliff hanger... :) Heh. **


	8. Chapter 8: Second Chances

"Hctiw? H-K-I-t-e-w." Sam said, spelling out how to pronounce it and laughing at Dean's expression, though the smile faded as his brother stared into his eyes looking for a response, one he had gained. "She was one of my sitters." he said with a shrug and looked back up at Dean, sighing quietly as he saw his expression. He walked forward to stand somewhat in front of Dean, though leaned back against a desk slightly. It was his brother. DEAN. Might as well tell him whatever he wanted to know.

"Hickstew... sounds gross. I still like my pronunciation better." Dean said, instantly getting that there was something about the 'sitter' that didn't sit well with Sam, therefore, it wouldn't sit well with him. He crossed his arms, then uncrossed them and pulled on his jacket, despite the warm room temperature. He re-crossed his arms and asked, "Okay... hickstew or... whatever... what did she do?" he asked, knowing that there was something that Sam hadn't said. He didn't mind... they hadn't seen eachother in 11 years... so it wasn't like Sam should just tell him everything right away... he felt as though he had to EARN that.

"How can I put this correctly... Okay, I'm Hctiw, right: Basements are cool, this kid is too blue, And by the way this food is not for you." Sam said with a shrug, puffing out air at his own 'twist on the rhythm like thing'. "Catch my drift?" he asked, though his voice cracked somewhere near the end of 'drift'. Sam shifted on the desk, still keeping a reign on any emotions or memories that tried to come back.

Dean's eyes narrowed, not used to people talking like that. He blinked slowly several times, but eventually, his mind got what Sam meant. "UGhhh B!&*h!" he exclaimed, not loudly, but loud enough that it had been somewhat surprising. "I'd have ripped her freakin' head of her shoulders and... and... threw it... or something." he stated, looking at Sam with a sympathetic expression. "D**** it... how long did she... how long was she around?" he asked, looking at Sam with a concerned expression.

"No, Dean, 's okay." Sam said with a slight smile trying to calm his outburst, last time he got about that mad, well, a teacher nearly got pounded into the carpet, an a gang left with some pretty good injuries. "Uh... three years." he said, gulping hard and looking down at the floor until he regained his composure, his gaze shifting back to meet his brothers concerned expression. "Really, it didn't seem as long as it sounds." 'it seemed longer.'

Yeah, Dean knew how that worked. "Where does she live?" he asked, his eyes darkening as he asked. It was as clear as if he had asked, 'How do I find her so I can kill her.' He looked at Sam, and smiled a deceptively calm smile. He wasn't calm... and he was p!$$ed... not at Sam of course... but at what had happened to his little brother.

"She's in jail... I think. For now." Sam said, squinting and rolling his eyes up towards the roof as if trying to remember how long her sentence was, which, he really couldn't. "Yeah, I think she's still in jail." he said, nodding in agreement to his own words. "So, no, no you don't have to rip her to shreds." he said to his overprotective brother, smiling slightly despite until it left his face again. "Besides, it's fine, I'm sure she won't do anything like it again when she gets out." he said, nodding once to Dean.

"WHEN... when... she gets out... hah... ha... what jail?" he asked, still pursuing the questions with an almost scary stubbornness. He looked at Sam, and his eyes softened again. He would worry about that some other time. A question came to him that had to do with the past... but, the past two days... not the previous years. "Sam... Uhmm... why... why'd you let me in?" he asked, referring to the night before, when he had actually opened the window, when really, he had no reason to do it.

"Dean, I'm not going to answer that, I forgave her a long time ago." he said with a slight, humorless laugh. Forgave her, maybe, forgot, no, ever forget, no. "Mhm?" he waited until he had finished his last question, and shrugged slightly as he did. "Everyone deserves a second chance... and I figured, 'ey! Maybe he will remember this, maybe it'll turn his life around. Maybe I can help someone for once." he explained and smiled shyly, looking down at the floor.

Dean nodded slowly, not understanding that. "Why?" he asked. He hadn't heard much about 'second chances' or things of that nature. He just knew the streets. He knew not to trust someone you just met. He knew most people didn't want him around... and half of them would do worse than just tell him to beat it. Thusly, someone talking about second chances was all that much newer to him. It was like someone seeing snow for the first time. His hazel-green eyes sparkled slightly as he waited for some explanation of why Sam would have done what he had.

Sam~: "Remember when we went to Pastor Jim's? Remember that one sermon he preached?" Sam asked, knowing, it was a very long time ago, somehow though, it had managed to always stick with him. "Remember him talking about God being the God of Second chances? Giving someone a second chance means we give him another chance to earn our trust... remember that? I dunno man, the whole hour and ten minutes just stuck with me... And I'm glad it did." he continued explaining.

"Uhh... Oh... I..." it came back to him. Yes... he remembered it. But how could anyone give him a second chance? Even he didn't give himself one. How could God forgive him? He stuttered slightly, feeling kind of small and a bit insignificant. "Hmmph..." he mumbled awkwardly. "Okay." he replied simply as thoughts ran through his head at break-neck speed. "Well, that's... uh... good." he said, blinking rapidly.

"Haha, okay Dean, don't be to fascinated with my speech." he kidded lightly, though still hoped that Dean would actually start thinking about what he'd said, what Pastor Jim had said. "So, when did you get out of the orphanage...?" he asked quietly and curiously, cocking his head to the side if not just slightly.

Uh... oh... after you left... about a month. I 'checked' myself out early." Dean stated, shrugging. "Lame hangout place..." he added, not liking the place at all before hand, but... without his little brother... it had been intolerable, and he had left. Looking back now... that had been a very bad idea... life had gotten so much harder... worse... dangerous... but whatever... he had lived.

"Mk..." he asked, raising one eyebrow though not pressing any further... what did he do for 11 years? Sam sighed quietly and figured, he would ask him later, he didn't really want to grill his brother, 'specially not now. He nodded once to Dean and headed towards his bed, jumping onto it and twisting in the air before he hit the bed with an moan, not bothering to get under the blankets, just closing his eyes. "Dean... get some sleep?" he asked in an oddly innocent sounding voice.

Dean stayed sitting rigidly on the bed, and would have refused, but for the tone in his brother's voice. "Agh fine..." he groaned. He pulled of his jacket and shirt, then let himself fall backwards onto the bed. He sighed quietly, catching a glimpse of his scarred reflection and quickly turning away from it. His head was spinning with everything he heard/learned. Things about Sam's past... other things... like what Sam had talked about. He stared up at the off-white roof and pulled the edge of the blanket over himself rather than getting under it. "G'night, Sammy." he muttered, half out of habit.

"Mhm... thanks... 'Night Dean." he mumbled and turned over towards the wall, wrapping his arms around himself and managing to kick his tan boots off by basically scraping them off on the bed until they came off. He shoved them to the floor with an grunt from the effort of being so lazy that he in fact made it harder for himself.


	9. Chapter 9: Cliffhanger

**Author's note: AAAHhhhhh should we continue? Beside that one constant reader, (You know who you are, and thank you LOADS:D) we don't even know if anyone has read after the first initial chapters O.O**

Like, not really.

And if you will, could you leave me a message so I know who reads any of our stories? THat, would be AMAZING! :D We're writing a series in real life, and, as soon as we start publishing, it would be nice to know if YOU would want to know when it's out an about... God willing SOON! So, if you want updates on THAT, leave me a message please! And to anyone still reading, it's appreciated! MUCH.

**Disclaimer: Don't own SPN, obviously. :P**

"Mudfights, nerf wars, you know, this is summing up to be a pretty cool day, right Sam? What was your favorite? The movie?" Mary's sweet voice asked the ten year old. His face lit up like a Christmas tree as he started to answer... but something was wrong... the light was shining in his eyes, but it was 8:00 PM... where was the light coming from? Oh well. Answering the question! " 

"MUDFIGHTS!" he blurted as he sat bolt upright in the bed, frowning as he stared at the sun that was shining directly in his eyes from the window. "UUugh.." he moaned, falling back down and putting on hand on his forehead then pulled the hand down over his eyes, groaning again.

Dean sat up with a start, flinching at the loud exclamation from Sam, across the room... about... mud fights. He cocked his head, wondering what his outburst had been about. "Crazy thing to say in the morning." he stated, smiling sarcastically. "Bet there's plenty of mud outside if you really felt like it." he added with a slight laugh. Once again, he pulled his shirt on, then flopped back into the bed with a tired groan. He had actually slept last night... for the first time in... a LONG time.

"Shut up jerK." Sam joked, slowly moving off of the bed. "Hey,all be back." he said somewhat groggily, as soon as he stood up though a new -found 'okay, lets do this' feeling came back to him. He had a feeling that this would be a looonnng day... He moved into the bathroom, shower/changing/shaving until about an hour or less later he came back out, pulling his backpack onto his back and looking at Dean somewhat expectantly. "Y' know what we're gonna do now?" he asked.

Dean shook his head slowly. 'Kid still thinks I have all the answers?' He didn't mind... in fact, that made him smile slightly. "We should move... umm... I need to get keys made." he stated, nodding toward the window and out at the Impala. He thought, 'What after this?' they needed to find a slightly more permanent place to stay... that was important. But one thing was for sure... he wasn't making Sam live on the streets. 

"Mk... know where? You know, you can get the keys made?" Sam asked, walking towards the door and waiting for Dean, saying nothing else for the time being, just looking intently at his brother as if waiting for an answer... which, he kinda was. Waiting for an answer that is.

"Yeah... I may not be a genius... but THAT, is something I can do." Dean smiled as he spoke. Cars... that was what he was good at. He had spent most of his time learning all he could about them. As far as he knew, that was all he was really good at. His only useful skill. He sighed and resignedly got ready to leave, knowing that they needed to figure something out to do AFTER that. He wasn't hunting. Not a freakin' chance in the world. He was out of that... and Sam would never have to know... that was comforting... extremely. He sighed and looked around the room once more, then headed out the door, looking back at Sam. "Coming?" he asked, unnecessarily. Of course Sam was coming.

TIMEWARP:Dean looked up at the dark sky, then over at Sam. They had been catching up... on a lot of things, pretty much all day. It was nice to get to know Sam... what he had done, and some things that he planned to do later in life. He, for his part, had not said much... as he figured he didn't want to mention anything from his less-than-nice past. It sort of ruined the mood. But he answered any questions that Sam had... If Sam asked, there was no reason not to tell him. He turned toward Sam and asked, "So, what d' you wanna do... y' know, as like... a job... later in life..." he asked randomly. He had never thought about it for himself... but he found himself always wondering what Sam would do... and now... he actually could ask him.

"Hm... me? I did want to go to law school... but Linda and Richard kinda ruined that for me. It's like, I tell them what I want to do, and they make me study for it all hours of the day, well, as long as they approve of it.. Anyways! Besides that...? Maybe a surgeon." Sam said with a shrug, leaning back farther against the Impala and closing his eyes for a moment. 

"Ugh... that sucks." Dean muttered, then teased. "I got it... help me out... you can become a criminal defense person... then, when I get locked up, you can get me out." he kidded. Of course, he had been to jail MANY times. So many in fact, that he had lost count. Of course, now that Sam was here, he was gonna do what he could to turn his semi-useless life around. He could feel the lack of drugs getting to him... but he was hiding it well... very well considering. "But really surgeon? Wow..." he said quietly. 

"C'mon Dean, it doesn't work like that..." he said, explaining how it ACTUALLY worked, since, well, he had studied law school, lawyer, criminal defense, for about a year before he decided against it. "Yeah, a surgeon, maybe..." he said with a light shrug, "And what are you going to do now? You know, I bet my credit cards still to my parents bank account, Mum thinks I'm just having a rebellious teen act. If you need a money boost, you know, just say the word."

"HAh! Yeah... I'm not taking charity." he said, shaking his head and thinking about what Sam had asked him. "Hmph... Me? Never thought about it. On the streets... nobody has a future. If you manage to make it through the day, that is your life... you don't count on there being a 'tomorrow.'" he stated with a shrug. He hadn't considered it... not really ever. He had one job since he was four years old... older brother. That was his job. And, for the past 11 years, he had done absolutely nothing. If he had a boss, he was sure that he would have been fired by now. 'You can't be fired from being someone's family.' he argued mentally. "Yeah I can." he muttered aloud in response to himself.

"Okay, whatever, you had your chance!" Sam joked, laughing slightly, then instantly shutting up as Dean continued. "Yeah? Well, you're not... not going to live on the streets anymore, right?" he asked, painfully hopeful. He couldn't lose Dean, AGAIN, he didn't want to go back... he didn't care if they both had to live on the streets, he didn't care about any of that, as long as it was just… them.

"Don't... think so. If... I can just... find... something else to do..." Dean stated. His mind was running through something that he could do to get money... some way to afford something, even just an apartment. He wouldn't be like his father. He wouldn't be like John. Driven by some stupid quest for revenge. D*mn straight he missed his mom... but he wasn't gonna drag his 15 year old brother on some crazy revenge trip, ruining his life forever. Nope. He was gonna get a REAL place to stay... a real home... a place where Sam could live, and call home... with just them. No wacky British people... and no one dragging them places just when they got settled. He realized he had been quiet for several minutes, and so broke the silence again. "If you could live... ANYWHERE... where would you pick?" he asked quietly, crossing his arms and letting out a long, somewhat shaky sigh.

Sam didn't say anything as the whole place fell silent for several minutes, until, finally, Dean started talking again. "Um, anywhere... I don't know." he said with a shrug, then started thinking again. "Somewhere in the US, dunno, maybe, New Mexico?" he said with a slight laugh.. never thought about it. Not once. Okay, maybe once, but that had been a long time ago. Sam leaned forward again, looking up at the dark sky for several seconds then forward as he heard something... a distant, humming, purring? Engine... car engine. Truck engine. He groaned slightly as he saw headlights and looked at his brother, shrugging slightly. What if it was his 'parents'? Oh great...

Dean instantly moved toward the trunk of the car, knowing that the weapons would possibly be needed. He could also hear the truck coming. 'Great... who would be out here at this time of night?' he groaned inwardly, not liking the sound of it ONE bit. He looked at Sam, then in the direction of where the car had been heard... or, truck. "C'mon." he stated quietly, not wanting Sam in the middle if there was going to be a fight. He could see headlights making there way ever closer. Who was it? A thought hit him... one that he hoped was wrong. John. Had he followed them? What if he had? 'Please don't be him...' he thought desperately, staring at the truck as it got closer. They were blocked in. That was the only road into the field, and the Impala was NOT a cross-country vehicle... so, unless the person in the truck moved, they were stuck here.

Sam stood off of the hood, pacing slightly and shifting on his feet, staring at the truck that was coming towards them... straight towards them... okay, now it was stopping right in front of them. Now they were blocked in. Now the guys getting out. 'Aw sheetay..' he thought, looking back once at his brother with an 'what do we do?' expression. John pulled up infront of the Impala, fuming, whoever this was, they were going to regret stealing his car. Probably some punk teenagers thinking they were cool, going to do drugs and smoke in some field in NY, thinking they'd get away with it. He jumped out of the truck, red creeping into his face from the anger and annoyance. "Stay in the car Adam." he commanded, though doubted the rebellious spoiled 13 year old would actually listen to that.

**Kinda cliffy? SOrry :) **

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	10. Chapter 10: PLEASE READ?

**SOrry, this is not actually a chapter... The actual chapter ten will be out soon! This is about the series:D The first book should be out this year! Depending on editing and createspace...! :) If you like SPN, (Which, if you're reading this, well, ya now) you might like this :D SYNOPSYS I JUST WROTE RIGHT HERE AND NOW:**

**Have you ever felt alone? Felt lost? Desolate? Like you were flying so high, then stripped of everything? Seven years. The Kelser brothers were torn away from each other for seven years, leaving one helplessly searching and the other hopelessly waiting. And what happens when they find each other again? They are thrown into even more chaos. There are secrets revealed**

**that are strongly rooted in their pasts, their parents pasts, the world of Atho's past. **

**THAT is the 'summary' for the first book in the Turn of The Tides book series. Book one: #Talwan's Vengeance. It's fantasy/adventure. :)**

**OKay, THanks for your time! Gracias, Danke, thank you, and any other language of thank yous!**


	11. Chapter 11

**Yeah, the impala originally was John's... but not here. Heh, we know that though, it was just for the story. **

Adam frowned, but nodded. Of course, he had no intention of actually doing that. But, for the time being, he remained in the car, at least until he knew who/what they were dealing with. He growled a frustrated exclamation and asked, "Why?" but his father was already out of the car. "Hmpph!" he thought in an irritated state. They had stolen HIS car... the Impala was supposed to be his. At least, he intended that. He made John, his father, swear that as soon as he turned 18, he was gonna get the classic black car.

Dean looked at Sam with a concerned expression, then at the man getting out of the truck. "S**t." he muttered aloud, hissing in irritation at what he saw. Still, he didn't open the truck, or get any kind of REAL weapon. It was John. He growled slightly, irritation and anger pretty much all he felt right then. He moved forward, standing in front of Sam, and beside the front of the Impala. He stared at John, knowing that the man wouldn't likely recognize them. 11 Freakin' Years... of course he wouldn't. Dean glared at the man, not moving away from Sam. "Whaddya gonna do?" he asked, the words coming across with clear rage. 'Might as well leave us alone... wouldn't be the first time.' he thought bitterly.

John stepped in front of the guy, maybe 20, at most year old guy, and the other 15-16-13 year old. "Just move away from my car and I won't HAVE to do anything." he hissed moodily, glaring at the older one of the two and waiting for some kind of reaction. 'better be him moving away...' he thought to himself.

Dean glared at John, who clearly hadn't recognized him. His thoughts were now rushing at a thousand miles a minute. If John had recognized them, what would he do? Why had he left them in the first place? What had they done to deserve being deserted by their own father? Why had he left them, which inevitably forced him and Sam's separation, which, had in turn, ruined his life a little at a time... if John had known, would he even care? Seconds later, the man stated, 'just move away from my car and I won't have to do anything.' He glared at him. Threats? No... No one threatened Sam... and it wasn't his car... it was Mary's... his mother's. Before John could react, Dean threw a punch, which landed squarely on John's nose. "IT'S NOT YOURS! IT WAS MOM'S!" He yelled at John, unable to control his shaking anymore. He trembled violently, but didn't back down, he stayed in front of Sam. He wasn't going to move... John wasn't gonna make them do anything. He became angrier by the second... Why had John come back after all these years?

Adam watched uselessly as his father was punched. He growled in anger and hopped out of the truck, running to the back to get a weapon.

He backed up in surprise at his words, shaking his head as if to unscramble his thoughts, which seemed to do the complete opposite. "Dean... Sammy?" he said in more of an asking tone as he looked between the two of them, ignoring the throb in his nose. He blinked rapidly to push away his thoughts and looked back to Dean, who was quaking uncontrollably and stubbornly staying in front of the younger. "Dean, stand down!" he growled, frowning and frowning even more as he heard Adam moving around the truck.

Sam flinched at Deans sudden outburst and the crack of cartilage under his fist as it made 'contact' with the man's nose. He gaped lamely for several seconds after hearing the words said by both of them, 'IT"S NOT YOURS! IT WAS MOM'S! Dean... Sammy? Dean, stand down!'. "What...?" he asked, though at this point neither of them were going to answer. He felt himself sit back against the Impala's hood and stare distantly at his slightly shaking hands as the fight ensued around him. Why'd Dean say he died... why did he lie to him? Why did John leave them there, at the orphanage? What was so important to him? What... why...? His thoughts spread out and scrambled, sending him into an complete dazed state until he heard John's voice saying his name again... "It's Sam..." he snapped quietly, his voice breaking. He hated it. He hated that nickname. No, he hated it when someone said it like, like, THAT.

Dean flinched at the 'order' from his 'father.' "NO, D***IT! You don't give me orders! You LEFT us! YOU LEFT SAM!" he hissed, yelling in reply to his 'father's' command to him. He had no intention of doing what the man wanted. He had lost any right to tell them what to do... lost the right to be their father when he abandoned them. Dean quieted down for a few moments, only when Sam spoke, then was right back to yelling at John. "WHY did you bother coming back!? We don't NEED you! H***, we don't even WANT you!" he said again, hoping that their father cared about them still... he wanted John to care. But not because he wanted to be around the man again... Dean wanted John to care, STRICTLY so that his words would cut. If John had any feelings left for them, then Dean knew that his words should sting like fire, and that was what he intended.

Adam's jaw dropped and his eyes widened. Sam and Dean. His brothers. He had seen a picture of them once. He frowned and the expression darkened his whole face. They where the only thing between him and John. He didn't like them. Especially Dean... who was yelling at HIS father. He quickly picked up a tazer, figuring that John might need it.

"D***it Dean!" John yelled back, glaring and shaking slightly under the eldest son's words, until finally swinging a punch at the 19 year old... yeah, he would have to be nineteen. And Sam would be... fifteen?

Dean instantly felt the blow. 'Felt worse.' he thought. Yeah, he had. Living on the streets was hard... so, this wouldn't be his first fight. Just his first one with his father. The one he used to see as a hero. "WHAT ARE YOU GONNA DO!? Hit me again?" he asked angrily, plowing forward and hitting John hard. He knew about his fathers temper. He had seen it many times in 8 years. But this much had never been directed at him. "You left for 11 freakin' years! What the H*** did you think you'd find when you came back? We were never just gonna forgive you! I. LOST. SAM. I lost EVERYTHING!" he yelled, losing his mind at that moment too. 'Crazy Dean' was taking charge, and that was leaving no room for 'forgiveness' and family reunions. He paid little to no attention to the 13 year old boy standing by John's truck... although he did wonder, who was that? "You selfish son of a B***!" he yelled, swinging another punch. "WHY'd YOU COME BACK!? To find out how much MORE miserable you could make our lives?! I had to LIE to Sam! I had to tell him YOU DIED! YOU MADE ME LIE TO SAM! I couldn't let him... know..." he said, his voice shrinking slightly as he said that. He never wanted Sam to know that their father had left because he didn't care about them anymore. He wanted his little brother to think that John had been a good man.

Adam's eyes widened at every yelled word from the oldest teenager... Dean. His 'brother.' He was getting mad... what right did Dean have to yell at John? None. Adam frowned, not liking them at all now. He wished he didn't have brothers. He caught himself wishing that neither of them were ever born. He didn't need, or want brothers. He thought he should be the only one. He was now trying to get John's attention, as he had a tazer.

He grunted and stumbled back slightly, catching his balance and trying to keep his temper down as questions flooded through his mind. What did he mean he lost Sam? Metaphorically, or literally? He was insane... whatever happened, had broken his mind, he was completely crazy. "Dean STOP!" he shouted back, stopping as Dean's voice shrank 'I couldn't let him... know...'. "Just stop, come with me, we can talk about this..." he said, one last attempt.

Dean shivered slightly. He wanted to... he ALMOST wanted to. His 9 year old self begged with him to listen to John. Maybe they could fix it... he wanted to. He did. He didn't. 'No! He left you. He'd do it again in a heartbeat! He doesn't care about you!' Dean wasn't in a mood to be told what to do... so the moment John said the words, 'Dean stop.' he lost it... again. "NO! WHY!? You wanna take Sam away?! Is that it? You wanna ruin everything good I have left? YOU NEVER CARED! YOu didn't want us... WHAT DID WE DO TO YOU!? You didn't care about us! DID you even love MOM!? Or is that why you LEFT US!? Cuz we're just a constant reminder of someone you would rather just forget!"

"STop it Dean!" John repeated again, backing up towards Adam as he saw the tazer in his hands. He roughly took it from his youngest son's hands and moved back towards Dean, aiming at him and pulling the trigger, "Sorry, but you'll understand later, we'll clear this up." he said.

Dean saw the tazer and instantly knew the pain that was headed his way. Again, it wouldn't be the first time. Generally, it was the cops that tazered him though. 'Ugh... this is gonna suck.' he thought, but he wasn't going to move. In his confused mind, right now, he was proving a point. Would John tazer his own son? He assumed that he would. 'Why try to talk it out right? Dean's just crazy... he's to broken to fix... best way around it is to...' yup... seconds later, he groaned in pain and fell to the ground. 'Electricity... not... supposed... to... travel... through... humans...'

Adam's face lit up with a grin. "What about him!?" he asked, pointing to Sam. His 13-year-old self over excited about what had just happened. He grinned slightly, his eyes darting around. But what now? John seemed intent on talking to them... he wanted to? Why? One of them was CLEARLY just a useless street kid with bad manners and worse language. He shrugged it off and looked at Sam.

Sam flinched and jumped off the hood, looking with wide eyes between JOhn and Dean as his brother got tazered by... his father, of all people. Sam swallowed hard then slowly moved to Dean's side, his eyes never leaving John, confusion, mistrust, all glittering in his eyes and he kneeled next to the unconscious version of his brother. He pulled him slightly off the ground, shivering slightly and closing his eyes, moaning quietly and to himself. He didn't understand anything, he was tired, confused, betrayed.

John groaned and looked back at Adam. "D***It Adam! Get back in the truck, or so help me..." he yelled, his voice trailing off at the end. He was p***ed... that was for sure, and Adam wasn't helping. He looked at Sam as he kneeled beside Dean. John's heart ached. How had this happened? He groaned inwardly, thinking, 'what happened while I was gone? I thought I was HELPING them!' he rubbed one hand down his face in exasperation. "Sammy..." he said, 's**t' he thought, remembering Sam's words only minutes before. 'It's Sam.' Even at a young age... VERY young age... Sam hadn't liked being called Sammy... he had allowed it as a 3 1/2-4 year old... but he still hadn't liked it. Only Dean was 'permitted' to call Sam that without enduring 'wrath.' John had already messed up... great. "Sam. I... come with me. Lets get to a motel where we can talk about this." he said. He pulled out his phone and dialed his wife... the new one. "Hey Honey... found the Impala. I need you to come pick it up and meet us back at the motel..." he said. His eyes never left Sam though. He moved forward and kept talking to his wife. Finally she agreed and he said that he would meet her at the motel. "We need to talk when you get there." he said. That was an understatement. "Sam, c'mon." he said, hoping that the younger of the brother's would be more... well... compliant.

Sam glared as John came closer and called his 'name', pulling Dean farther away from John and letting out a sound that sounded close to an protective, but scared, animalistic growl. "Fine." he said as an only reply to his 'proposition', and looking towards the truck and the kid, narrowing his eyes at the thirteen year old for a few seconds before looking back to John. "You've been busy." he said in an accidental British accent, though, seconds later all sarcastic or angry comments drowned away, leaving only his confusion and feeling of betrayal and the barbed wire around his heart.

John looked at his son, who pulled away, clearly mistrusting of him. He had never expected to see his sons again. He had thought that maybe they would be adopted by a nice family... have a normal life. But apparently, that had not been what had happened. He could see that Dean had practically lost his mind, and was covered in scars... Sam for his part... well, there was something about him. Then it hit him... his younger son had a BRITISH accent. Where had that come from? Why didn't Dean... Oh... Oh no. Suddenly it hit him like a thousand pounds of bricks. Dean's words came to him as he had said, 'I lost Sam.' He had LITTERALY lost Sam. John felt the guilt build inside of him. He had known that his boys NEEDED each other... even from a young age. It never occurred to him that they may have been split up... and he had certainly not known what would happen as a result of that.

When he heard Sam's words, he had to pause and think. 'Busy...' what? he almost asked Sam what he had meant... then he caught his stare... Adam. 'Oh... s**t' he thought. Sam was clever... even more so than he had been all those years ago. He had grown up very well... but his words stung... he didn't know if Sam had meant them to... but they had. He had known instantly that Dean had been TRYING to hurt him... but Sam... with his light innocent green eyes... John just COULDN'T tell. "Sam... I haven't... I didn't..." he stuttered. "C'mon..." he said, moving toward Sam and Dean. He moved slowly, he didn't want to scare Sam... he didn't know what the kid was thinking. "Lets get to the truck... your brother needs help."

Sam could practically feel the guilt coming off of their father in waves, Sam blinked slowly and buried his face in Dean's leather jacket for several seconds before nodding and ignoring his previous stuttering for excuses. He stood up and pulled Dean up with him, groaning with the effort and pulling his arm over his shoulder, shaking slightly as he tried to move towards the truck without John's help, which, pretty much failed. The fifteen year old purposefully avoided looking at Adam again, pretty much just staring at the ground with an unreadable expression.

John helped Sam haul his brother toward the car, with Dean between the two of them. John could see in Sam's eyes how much he hated everything that was happening. He wanted to ask him so much, but he didn't know what kind of an answer he would get. "Sam... wh... what happened after I..." he stopped. It seemed like everything he could say would make things worse. He opened the back door of the truck and made sure everyone was in the truck. He walked back to the driver's side and got in. He hadn't said it, but he had child locked the back doors, just in case...

Adam grumbled quietly as his father helped the two older boys into the back of the truck. "Daddy, why are you bringing them?" he asked almost silently, a frown on his face. He didn't want them around. He didn't like them... he had never known a whole lot about them, but now that he met them, he didn't like them.

John glared at his youngest son as he had asked him the question. "ADAM!" he bellowed, "Enough!" he finished, looking at the rearview mirror at Sam and Dean, HIS kids. D***, they were so much like Mary... and so much like him. He blinked hard, running a hand over his face in exhaustion. This day was NOT turning out the way he had hoped it would. 'Why couldn't they have just been some random kids going for a joy ride?' he thought.

Adam grunted, but went silent, only glaring at Sam for a moment, then looking back at the road. "Well, I keep shotgun." he said.

John didn't reply to the 13 year old words. He, John, had spoiled the kid a little. Now, he was full on regretting it.

Sam got into the back seat, still avoiding the youngest of the whole 'group'. He looked up at John for less than a second before looking away, back to his scarred, needle marked brother. His fingers met with a hard metal, and he couldn't help but smile sadly if not just briefly as he looked at the Bull-man necklace pendant charm thing he had given Dean, oh, who knows how long ago. The thing actually looked quite ugly up close. Sam let it drop again, shoving his left hand into his pocket and trying to keep from looking at either Adam or John.

Dean groaned quietly, not knowing what was happening. His eyes flickered open for a moment, and he could see the inside of a truck. He could hear voices... but the words didn't, or wouldn't make sense. He could vaguely see Sam, at least, he hoped that was Sam. "Sammy... 'm sorry." he whispered, then everything went black again.

"No Dean, 's fine...not your fault.." Sam said as his brother momentarily woke up, though he was unconscious again. His voice came out in more of an whimpering breaking voice instead of what he meant in to be, but, oh well, nothing he could do about it now.

John heard his oldest son whisper Sam's nickname and flinched at the apology. What was that for? Was he apologizing to Sam because they were trapped? By HIM!? Did Dean really hate him so much that he honestly felt trapped? John swallowed hard, feeling his emotions threaten to surface. D***it, he tried to keep them back though... he didn't want to be in this mess. He didn't want Adam to see that... and he DEFNITELY didn't want Dean and Sam around to witness a full on emotional breakdown. He stared at the road and asked, "How's Dean?"

"Which answer do I tell you? The one you want to hear, or the truth?" Sam asked quietly and oddly innocently, biting back the English accent again.

Adam stayed silent in the front seat, only occasionally looking back. He could see that Sam was avoiding looking at him. He didn't know why, but he didn't care. Those two were has-beens. John's sons that he left for Adam. He crossed his arms and raised his chin slightly, in a look that read, 'I'm above you.'

Sam pulled Dean's head to his shoulder, letting his head rest on top of Dean's and moving his eyes to stare outside the window for several seconds at the passing landscape... fast passing landscape, blurred and dark, the stars reflecting off of random different things like road signs. "C'mon D'n, you never agreed, NM, right?" he mumbled uselessly to his passed out brother, letting his light green eyes close.


	12. Chapter 12

John heard Sam's words, and wasn't sure what that meant. What had happened while he was away? He was dying to know, yet, at the same time, he was almost afraid to find out. Judging by how Dean had acted to him... it was as though he blamed John for some horrible event that had happened in his life. The words his oldest son had spoken were MEANT to hurt... and they had... 'WHAT DID WE DO TO YOU!? You didn't care about us! DID you even love MOM!? Or is that why you LEFT US!? Cuz we're just a constant reminder of someone you would rather just forget!' The words bounced around in his skull like bullets. If there was one thing about Dean, he knew how to hurt people without even having to touch them. The thought was almost funny, as he remembered the throbbing of his nose, which was now bleeding pretty hard. Through everything that had happened, he hadn't even noticed it. Finally, when he was about to speak, he heard Sam whispering something to Dean... something about agreeing. He didn't know what that meant, but he was about to ask. "What?" he asked plainly.

"Nothing you'd care about." Sam retorted almost out of habit, a habit he never had. Sam puffed out air in a sigh, moving his head and looking at John and Adam finally. "Wouldn't matter to you, because Dean was right, you did just leave." he said in an somewhat asking tone, as if, he was almost holding out hope that it wasn't true, that something happened so that John just needed to leave, or... or... something.

John grimaced at Sam's tone and his words. He wanted to say, 'Don't use that tone with me.' But, he saw how that worked with Dean. He knew that technically, though he was their father, he didn't have the right to order them around. He saw the lights of the motel and finally, after what had felt like a billion years, he stopped and put the truck in park. "Adam, go inside. Your mother will get here soon, she's picking up the Impala." John told his youngest.

Adam grunted in response and slouched in the chair. He looked at John, his gaze one of defiance. "GO, ADAM." John commanded loudly. "Fine... I'm going." he muttered, sliding out of the truck and taking the motel key with him. He didn't look back once as he trotted off toward the old, run-down building.

Now that they were alone, without the youngest, 'Winchester' around, John turned in the front seat of the truck, looking at his sons. He swallowed back anything he may have said and tried to start out logically. "Sam... I didn't just... WANT to leave you... I." he paused, what should he say? There are monsters, and I wanted to protect you? Yes... on some level that was true. But still, if he told Sam, and that affected his life in ANY way... Dean would never forgive him, and he knew it.

Then, there was the other reason. Hope and Adam. He had wanted to be with Hope... he had loved her. But he hadn't known what she would think of Sam and Dean… He groaned and looked Sam in the eyes. "I... do care..." he started, waiting for the backlash... he wondered what he could POSSIBLY say to his son that would make him believe that without having to tell him anything... that... REALLY happened.

Sam looked up then back at Dean, pushing him carefully against the door as John started talking to him. "You didn't WANT to, maybe, but you did. And Maybe if you knew what happened, you wouldn't have. But. You did." he said, blinking rapidly and returning the gaze as John looked him in the eyes saying 'I...do care...'. "I know you do, I know you do Dad..." he said, his voice cracking with emotion. "But not as much as Massa, my first sitter. Not as much as Mary, my last sitter. Not as much as Joshua from boarding school. Not as much as much as Luiegee`, the freakin' Italian man that I met in Italy. None of them left me... not In some words." he said. Massa passed, but that, wasn't betrayal.

John flinched inwardly, his heart aching at those words. Sam felt more a family with a sitter... and a random man he met in another country. John knew that he shouldn't expect anything less. He knew that, but it still hurt coming from his son. He blinked slowly, keeping back the emotion. He didn't know what to say to Sam. "I... I didn't know you felt that way." he said quietly. 'Stupid! John that was so stupid. Of course you knew.' he thought to himself. How else would Sam feel when he found out that John was alive, and had left.

Now, coming to that. "Dean told you I was... dead?" he asked quietly. Dean didn't have to... he COULD have told Sam the truth... of course, he knew that it would have made Sam angry and bitter... much as it had done to Dean. So, WHY did Dean do that? John knew better than to assume it was for him. No... Dean had obeyed him... cared for him even at one point... but no. He had done if for Sam. He would do anything for his little brother. He loved that kid from the moment he knew Sam was gonna be born, and that had never changed. 'Don't lose it John...' he told himself. "What happened after... I... had to leave." he said 'had to' as though it was true. It made him feel incredibly guilty. He didn't HAVE TO... and he knew that.

Dean's eyes fluttered again for a moment and realized that he was sitting beside Sam... Sam was talking quietly... talking to who? Oh, John. He glared angrily in the direction of the other voice, but he could only see a blurry version of John. He knew that the tazering effect would wear of soon... but it would still leave the fact that he was tired, and addicted to drugs he didn't have. So... of course, it was gonna take a while before he was really actually awake. He muttered some un-intelligible words and blacked out again.

"I don't know how long it was, but, it wasn't even a year.. 'Got adopted by a British couple. Eleven years. While I had boarding school and vacations, Dean-" he started, then stopped, frowning and looking down. No. John didn't really care. He didn't care what happened to either of them, otherwise, he wouldn't have ditched them at an orphanage. "I missed you, I GRIEVED for you! How could you... how could you do that? I lost you, and I lost Dean, I lost my family... and I hated it where I ended up. I didn't belong there... and every day, I would wake up with two thoughts. 'I miss Dad and I miss Dean,' 'now I'm alone.'"

John knew that things weren't gonna be easy to fix, but he WANTED to make things work between them again, he really wanted to. He noted how Sam had said nothing about what happened to Dean. It was clear that the two were separated, but for HOW long? That he didn't know. It suddenly struck him when it had all started... NOT even a year... a British couple had taken Sam... ALONE. The orphanage split them up. Sam would have been FOUR. YEARS. OLD. and they took him from the only person he had left in the world. John was feeling MORE guilty than he had before, if that was even possible. "I didn't know that was gonna happen Sammy... Sam." he tried to correct himself, but it had been a little late. "I'm sorry Sam. I never knew... I thought I was helping you boys. You should have had to move around with me..." he said, knowing that was true... that was PART of his reason. 1/3 to be exact. He looked at Dean as he blinked slowly and glared for a moment, then closed his eyes again. John let out an enormous sigh and looked at Sam again. "What will I have to do to get you boys to see that I want you to trust me?" he asked, knowing that it wouldn't be easy. It may be easier for Sam... but he didn't know. Judging by the way his boys were... he would have to move mountains and build galaxies to make up for what he had done.

"Hmh." he 'answered', listening to him talking and looking away from his father back to Dean. "To make Dean trust you, there's nothing you can do. Me? I don't know, I just don't know." he said, then fiddled with the door handle, pulling on it and, to no surprise, finding it child locked. He cocked his head and looked at John with an 'Really? That's trust worthy.' expression and looked back to the door. "We going to go wherever you intended, because, unless you tazed Dean for no reason, I think we should be going. We are captives, you want to point a gun at my back as I walk?" he 'asked', though wasn't at all joking, pulling Dean from the other door again and pulling his arm over his shoulder, waiting to get moving again. Emotion had run through his voice, his strained, tense, hurt voice.

Agh, D****it.' John thought. He REALLY was messing everything up. Why couldn't he just do ONE thing right with his boys? He sighed loudly and shook his head. "Don't say that Sam. You know that's not true." he said, getting out of the truck and moving toward the door. He unlocked it and pulled it open. He looked at Sam's expression, which was one of hurt, and betrayal. He knew that it was his fault. All that time they had spent alone. Sam thinking that he was dead, and Dean knowing the truth... both of them hurt by it. He tried to push past his feelings of self loathing, and he did hide them well. He looked like a brick wall with little to no emotion, inside, it was like a storm brewing inside of him. "Sorry, okay? I know there's nothing I can do to make those 11 years go away... but I want you both back... BOTH of you." he said, glancing around the parking lot, then toward the motel.

"I know you are, but it's not going to happen over night. ANd I'm just talking FOR ME. I don't know about Dean. We just met up, what, two days ago?" Sam said, getting out of the car and feeling a spike of anger at the brick wall look on his fathers face. Of course, he never knew the man, he was FOUR when John 'dropped' them off at the orphanage. Sam moved towards where the kid had disappeared to, and had a sudden thought, "So whose the kid? What's his name?" he asked, his voice still strained, though somehow it sounded different.

John grunted, not wanting to talk about Adam to Sam or Dean. The kid was spoiled and thought he was entitled to everything... John had never given it much thought, and hadn't really noticed it... that is, until the three of his sons had met, now it was painfully clear to him that he had done a poor job of parenting his youngest son. "His name is Adam." he stated as his reply. He moved to the other side of Dean, making sure that he didn't fall. He looked at Sam and sighed loudly. "Adam... He's..." he paused, thinking, 'How do I say this?' He figured Sam had already guessed... but still, the kid asked. If he EVER wanted Sam to trust him again, he had to answer. "He's my son." he grunted out the words, his voice sounding like it had been raked over sand paper. "Two days ago." he repeated Sam's words. They had only found each other TWO DAYS AGO? 'S**t. This is bad... so bad.' Now John felt like he was all but drowning in his guilt. 'Why did I ever to do that?' he asked mentally, remembering how he had convinced himself to leave Sam and Dean, telling himself 'it's for their own good' and other bull like that.

"Yes, two days ago." he said, ignoring everything John had said about Adam. What was he supposed to say? Oh, congratulations 13 years late! Didn't know I had a little half brother! Hey, truthfully, it hurt, but what would that do to state it? It didn't matter anymore, and it wouldn't matter what he thought of 'Adam', because he wasn't planning on staying long enough for him to become a problem. He moved into the motel room after John and the both of them let the unconscious version of Dean onto the farthest away bed. Sam huffed out a breath and sat down on the edge of the creaky bed, staring at the floor like it was the most interesting thing he had ever seen.

John sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. He was feeling sick to his stomach now. This was his doing. He looked at his two oldest sons. Dean looked awful... scarred up, bruised, sickly... and clearly the kid didn't have a good life. Sam... he seemed to be okay, physically... but now that Sam knew? John shook his head. All that time Dean had been telling Sam that he was dead... letting Sam believe that they hadn't been abandoned. John knew right then that he had made the wrong choice. He hoped for all his filthy soul was worth that maybe... JUST maybe, he could make it up to his boys... somehow.

"Sam..." he stopped. What could he say? He gulped back an emotional sound, luckily he stopped it in time. He had to find out about his son's pasts. Both of them, not just Sam's. "Sam, what happened to Dean?" he asked quietly, now he too was looking at the floor, feeling like he didn't deserve the answer he was asking for. Feeling like, maybe the answer should come from Dean himself, and not Sam... but still... he needed to know. He HAD to know.

"What do you care?" Sam snapped, his gaze lifting and meeting John's, glaring daggers. 'Second chances... isn't that what you were telling Dean?' he groaned inwardly at the truth to his mind's retort and slowly letting his eyes flicker off to a corner in the motel room, watching as a mouse darted from one side of the room to the other and huddle in that corner. "Addicted to drugs, and only the Lord knows what else. Didn't have anywhere to stay. Like, ever. Didn't have really anything to eat, again, ever. He hasn't even told me everything. I don't even want to know anymore. The only reason I'm ever going to ask him, is because he has to tell someone, or it'll eat him from the inside out." Sam said, burning rage flecked in his clear eyes for less than a second.

John looked away from the floor, and out the window of the motel. 'Speaking of things that eat you up inside...' he thought. This was horrid. He hadn't wanted things to be like this. 'What the h*ll did you think was gonna happen?' his mind thought. John paled slightly at Sam's words. "D-drugs?" he asked. He was angry for a moment. Only a moment. Angry at Dean for turning to drugs. He banished that thought. He had no right to be angry at his oldest son. Dean had to deal with loss... too much loss. His mother, then John leaving... and then losing Sam. John knew he had no right to judge his son for that... but rather, he should do what he could to help. "Wh-why?" he asked, but didn't expect an answer. Sam probably wouldn't know, and if he did... he still had no reason to tell him. "D***it... I" he paused. "I'm sorry Sam." he coughed out.

"Can you just leave us alone? He's probably g-gonna go through withdrawal soon. I don't think you should be here. It'll just make it worse." Sam said, his eyes looking up at John, large, sad, bright green eyes that practically screaming, 'please just go away..'. He shifted his eyes to the bed across from where he sat, looking at Dean who seemed peaceful, well, peaceful... as peaceful as he could, Sam supposed. He looked up again, silently telling John, 'it'll just be drama. Just go.'

John wanted to argue. He wanted to stay here. He wanted so badly to fix what HE had done. And deep down... he knew that the way to do that, was to do what Sam was asking. "Okay... you're right." he swallowed his pride, YEARS too late, but he was doing it. "I'll rent the next room over. If you need anything... just... well... ya know. And I will come back every hour to check on you." he said quietly, nodding once to Sam and turning toward the door. He wanted to turn back, close the distance between them and just hug both of his boys, but he didn't dare. He couldn't. Not with what he had done to them. He only hoped that, in time, perhaps he could... perhaps one day, Dean and Sam would forgive him... and both boys would see him as their father again. One day, but it wouldn't be soon, and that he knew.

"And if you hear screaming, don't worry, that's just Dean." Sam spat bitterly as soon as John left the room, "I'll try to keep him calm through the hallucinating so you can get your beauty rest." he added to thin air, pinching the bridge of his nose and knowing he was in for a long 24 hours, or, it depended on what kind of drugs Dean had been taking. Still.

*JOHN*

John had heard Sam's words. He stood outside the door to the motel room, leaning his head against its cold surface. He wanted to go back in. He wanted to say something. "I'm sorry." he whispered. It would have been too quiet for Sam to hear... besides... even if he did, it would do nothing. John had already apologized many times. He would need to follow those words with actions. 'Actions speak louder than words... and so far, you've done a sh!%y job.' he told himself silently.

"ADAM! C'mon!" he called, looking toward the truck that Adam was leaning on. His son obeyed and he moved to the main room of the motel to get another room, one on either side of his sons.

*S&D*

Dean's eyes slowly fluttered open. For several moments, he was still. Then suddenly, he sat bolt upright. "What the h*ll..." he groaned. "Tell me that was just a freakin' bad dream... acid trip... something." he muttered, running a hand over his head. D*mn that was a bad headache.

Dean looked at Sam through blurry hazel-green eyes. "Sammy..." he said, knowing instantly that what he had remembered was not a dream, or hallucination, or anything else. It had been real.

"Hey Dean." Sam said, shifting on the bed before he stood up, crossing the room to the other bed and awkwardly standing, aimlessly, until finally he sat down next to his brother. Silence. Beside the mouse squeaking, Sam left the room in the quiet for several seconds, long, painfully long seconds, but still seconds none-the-less.

Dean shifted backward on the bed, trying to find a comfortable position, which proved impossible. "SH*T. It's starting, and it's gonna freakin' suck." he muttered. "We have to get out..." he stood up, then promptly sat back down. "of here." he finished his sentence. "I'm not staying anywhere near John. Where'd he go anyway?" he asked, looking around suspiciously. He ground his teeth together and shut his eyes, breathing long slow breaths for several seconds. Bad headache... sore... tired, and REALLY P!ssed. 'What'd' ya know... complete diagnosis.' he thought sarcastically.

Just... sit. Stay. He's not here right now." Sam said, noticing but not noting Dean calling their 'father' John. He was just a man to them. Just a somebody. Just a stranger. "I can try and find you some sleeping pills? I'm sorry... I don't know what'll help. Never done this before." he said with a humorless laugh, rubbing his hand against his face and pressing fingers against his eyes.

Dean shook his head and let out a humorless laugh. "Won't help. Thanks for the offer though." he said quietly, running both hands over his face and pushing hard against his eyes. "D*mn, that hurts..." he groaned quietly. He was just going to have to go through it. It wouldn't kill him... he'd actually been through it before... just this time, he was going to stick with it... for Sam. He was getting of drugs. After all, if he didn't... where would he end up? Probably dead... or murdered by an unpaid drug-dealer... so no. He wouldn't keep doing this... especially not now that he had Sam back. "I'll be okay." he said, opening his eyes and looking at Sam with a smile that looked more real than he actually felt it had.

"Yeah." Sam said, sighing quietly. The teen gave a low groan as he looked back at his brother, who, looked awful. Pale, scarred, sunken eyes, pain lines on his face. So if bad meant horrible, he looked and probably felt, bad. Sam stood up uneasily, pacing the room.

Dean felt sick, much more so than he would let on to Sam. He gritted his teeth against the pain, and forced himself to act like it wasn't what it was. He didn't know how long he could manage that. The room felt cold... which was probably a bad sign. He muttered a curse under his breath and sat up against the headboard. He looked across the room at Sam and asked, "It's not cold in here, is it?" He kinda wished that it was, but with his luck, he probably had a fever... which was not a good thing. At least it wasn't TOO bad.

Yet.


	13. Chapter 13: Withdrawal

**HUrt!Dean that most of you have been waiting for... :) Wow... I shouldn't smile about that should I? Oh well. Hurt!comfort! And lots of it! :D I despise begging for reviews, but if you would drop one, that would be amazing :P:) Thank you who've stick with the story! Thank you ALL for the follows, favorites, and or reviews! Thank you... thank you ALL SOS MUCH. AND it you have ANY IDeas of what you would want to see happen next, mention them please! :) Plot twists, characters that could show up, anything you would want to read!**

Dean was never the praying type, but right then, he wasn't exactly complaining about Sam's quiet, but still aloud, prayers. And the kid was freaking out anyways, so if that's what he wanted to do, that's what he wanted to do. Along with talking to himself and Dean, Dean though, didn't answer. And it would have been creepy on any other day that Sam was answering to his own questions and random talking.

Not that he was complaining. It was keeping him grounded to some degree.

He groaned quietly, shutting his eyes, every noise and even the smallest light, like the one from the microwave, or the noise from the refrigerator was painful, amplified by the headache, or well, it was more like migraine.

A freezing, or at least it felt freezing, compared to his 102 degrees, hand was on his arm. He cringed away from the cold, grinding his teeth together. "Dean, Dean? C'mon, you have to drink something." Sam.

Looking much like a zombie, and with the help of Sam, he took a whole-whopping three gulps.

He was sweating despite the washcloths that was being –at that time- dabbed on his neck, temples, fore-head.

Sam was glad that Dean had his eyes closed. That way, he wouldn't see how badly his hands were shaking, wouldn't notice the tears that occasionally fell from his soulful eyes. It hadn't even gotten to it's worst and he knew that. Knew what to expect. A soft cry brought him out of his tired thoughts, his eyes instantly falling on his nearly motionless brother.

He had heard about this part of withdrawal, and had hoped it would never come.

It had already been two hours… but it normally stretched to about 24. And he was starting to hallucinate. Sam could almost sense it, like just a strange bad-feeling-turned-to-horrible.

Dean could see him standing in the corner. He contained a shudder, telling himself it wasn't real. It wasn't real. It really wasn't. He knew that. He did…. Was he real? No, he wasn't. He wasn't. And neither was the other guy. Or the other.

None of them were.

MEMORY~ Dean was fifteen, or, around, he didn't exactly keep track of how old he was any longer. It didn't matter.

He blinked several times, trying to clear his eyes again, from the crimson that slowly leaked in. He had been caught, one of the un-payed drug dealers, p!$$ed beyond p!$$ed, had decided to take his anger out with, oh, who knew how many torture weapons and techniques.

Several broken bones, his breathing was labored, he blamed that on his cracked and broken ribs, several knife cuts running sideways on his arms, and other countless injuries.

"Don't worry, I'll stop. When I'm content." Said the drug-lord.

"Well, I hope you get your fill soon, 'cuz, my bladder got it's fill yesterday, and it hasn't gotten it's over-due un-fill."

And he earned a split lip.

"Ow." he commented.

"Don't worry, sure It won't permanently damage your 'good looks'. Genetics can't be changed by a few scars, right?"

"Dude. My 'Dad' had stomach hair. Chest hair I get, even armpit hair for Pete's sake. But no. He had belly fuzz. Good looks are all me."

"Joke all you want, $$hat… It'll only make killing you, more, more like stress relief."

Dean was pulled out of the memory by a sharp pain in his ear, and it only took him seconds to realize somebody was pinching his ear lob.

"What the f…" he grumbled, slapping at the hand and hearing a grunt from Sam. He pried one eye open, staring accusingly at the younger teen, who just shrugged and with a wide-eyed 'I dunno' expression stated, "You were completely zoned out, what was I supposed to do?"

"Um… 'excuse me, I know you're in pain, so I won't turn into a giant freaking human mosquito.'" "Dean, mosquito? Really?" Dean smirked as Sam rolled his eyes, letting the one open eye close.

Yeah, they would joke, tease, exchange jabs. They both knew how much worse it could get. How much worse it would get. Neither needed to focus on that.

Some-odd hours later, just as they had known, things had gone from really bad to even worse. Dean was hit with a full-hallucination on about the forth hour, nausea, mood swings, the whole package.

Dean stifled a scream, John, or the hallucination of John, dragged a knife through his chest, a grin set on his features.

He wanted it to just END already. All of it. Somewhere deep in his subconscious, he was wishing he had never stuck that first needle through his skin, but at the fore-front of his mind, he was staring into the eyes of the man he once idolized as John sliced him up, and barely holding it together as the hallucination spat accusations at him. "You let them take Sammy! What the h#ll is wrong with you, Boy?!"

Sam's heart broke a little more as he heard a raw whisper from his big brother, or only the millionth soul-tearing thing he had heard in the past hour. "You left us… n-not… I didn't… h-have… a-any… control… over…what…"

And it didn't make sense. But it was still horrible. He didn't understand, and couldn't understand even if he tried, because Dean was having to face his past, face it all, and it was horrifying and sickening to know that he could only sit there, watching, unable to do a thing.

And another hour into the night.

Dean had just lost everything he had left in his stomach, plus some bile, and had sank to the bathroom floor, shuddering, quaking, randomly calling out complete jibberish words.

Sam wrapped both arms around his brother, both hands gripping the back of Dean's damp t-shirt. "Dean. Dean? Dean! Look at me!" he called, trying to hide the tremble in his voice as he searched his brothers eyes. Nothing. No recognition. He was living in another world.

He could hear rain pelting the roof of the motel, thunder rumbling in the distance, and a soft sob break from his older brother. A defeated, hurting, hopeless sound. Sam finally let the tears flood from his eyes, one hand moving to the back of Dean's neck as his chin rested on top of his shoulder.

The sound was coming from his throat before his mind was really registering what he was doing.

"Carry on my wayward son, there'll be peace when you are done, lay your weary head to rest, don't you cry no more…

Once I rose above the noise and confusion, just to get a glimpse beyond this illusion, I was soaring ever higher, but I flew to high,

Though my eyes could see I still was a blind man, though my mind could think I still was a mad man, I hear the voices when I'm dreaming, I can hear them say,

Carry on my wayward son, there'll be peace when you are done, lay your weary head to rest, don't you cry no more…"

Dean could hear his heart pounding in his ears, feeling blood rushing down his face… well, it had felt like blood earlier. Now it just felt like, well, ice, against his burning skin. He could hear Sam's voice, accusing, angry, then screaming in pain, over and over again, "It's your fault! It's YOUR fault! I just… want… to die… but I want you… to die.. FIRST!" screamed the hallucination until it broke off in an agonized wail.

It was too much. To d mn much… he stifled a sob, which came out loud-and-clear. Not that it mattered anymore. There was no one really there to hear. He had been through this before. He was going through withdrawal, and he was alone.

A sound… a muffled sound… started to drown out everything else… where was it coming from? It couldn't have been a hallucination… his hallucinations never sang. Ever.

What the h3ll?

It was Carry on My Wayward Son. And in that moment, it was the most beautiful sound that he had ever heard. Because he knew that voice. H#ll, if he heard it underground, miles and miles beneath him, he WOULD. Know. Whose. voice. And it didn't matter that the voice barely scrapped over the high notes. It didn't matter the quaking near-sobbing sounds that substituted for vibrato, it didn't matter, none of that did.

His arms pulled the shivering form closer to himself, one trembling hand on the back of his younger brothers head, his eyes pouring tears, and it had to be the King of All chick-flicks, but none of it mattered. The hallucinations were even backing off.

"S-sammy…?"

"Dean."

**BTW, watch the episode in season 1 where John was telling Sam to shoot him and all that... and tell me I'm wrong about this: JW has BF (Belly fuzz.) Not chest hair, not arm pit hair, but stomach hair, my dear friends in the SPN community. **


End file.
